Pieces
by spns
Summary: An ex-hunter with a vendetta has his sights set on Sam. Sequel to Broken.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! This is a sequel to Broken. You should be able to follow the story okay without reading Broken first, but it wouldn't hurt to go check it out!**

**Enjoy.**

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><p>They were eating lunch when Dean's phone rang. In retrospect, everything that was about to happen to them could have been avoided if Dean had just ignored that phone call, but he didn't know. If he had, he would have thrown the phone in the trash on his way out of the restaurant and changed their numbers before leaving town. Instead, he looked at the unknown number and answered the call with a push of a button, bringing the phone to his ear without a second thought.<p>

"Yeah?" He asked through a bite of bacon cheeseburger. Sam shot him an unimpressed look from across the booth and then went back to his lettuce, or whatever the hell he was eating.

"Is this Dean Winchester?" An unfamiliar voice asked from the other end of the line.

Dean swallowed and frowned at the table. "Who's asking?"

"I knew your dad." The man said, a hint of sadness in his voice. "John. He was a good man. Sorry to hear about his death."

Dean remained quiet as he waited for the caller to get to the point.

"I, uh, my name is Jack Hooper. John helped me out a few years ago. My wife and I recently moved to a new house and we kinda have a problem. You know, your kind of problem. I was hoping maybe you could come..."

His voice trailed off. The man sounded nervous, maybe a little bit embarrassed to be asking for help. Dean smiled and popped a fry into his mouth. "Sure, Jack. Why don't you tell me a bit more about this problem."

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><p>"Sounds like a poltergeist, the way the guy described it." Dean said to Sam as they turned off the exit toward Donovan, Illinois. "Simple enough. Should be an in-and-out job."<p>

"Maybe. Poltergeists can be tricky." Sam said, paging through their dad's journal. It didn't mention anything about a Jack Hooper. Nothing that they had found, anyway. But that didn't mean they shouldn't check it out.

Dean shrugged and turned down the music as they entered the small town. It was a run down, blink-and-you-miss-it kind of place. Most of the shops were boarded up and the houses looked like something he and Sam would investigate on a hunt. If it weren't for the few vehicles parked along the street, Dean would have thought that everybody had packed up and left town years ago. They came to a stoplight that glowed red and waited for a whole four minutes without seeing a single car before Dean decided, _screw it,_ and drove through anyway.

A couple blocks later they saw their first sign of life. A man stood outside a gas station smoking a cigarette. Dean raised a hand in a friendly wave as they passed, but the man just frowned in response and took another drag of his cigarette as he watched them pass with narrowed eyes.

"Friendly place." Dean commented.

Jack lived outside of town, and Dean was pleasantly surprised when they pulled into the driveway of an old, but well kept farm place. The outside of the house was in great shape, and even the outbuildings looked like they had plenty of good years ahead of them. The whole place had a rustic feel, and Dean nodded in approval as he and Sam stepped out of the car and made their way onto the wooden deck that led to the front door.

Jack's wife, Kay, was very welcoming, offering them coffee and banana bread as they sat in the kitchen and talked about the ghost problem. Jack was working in the field until dinner time, so Sam and Dean were left chatting with Kay for the majority of the afternoon. She offered them a room, insisting that the ghost only came out at night and that they stay; and then left them to settle in and go over things in private while she prepared dinner.

Their room wasn't very big, but it was a lot cozier than most of the hotels they frequented, so Dean wasn't going to complain. A green rocking chair sat under a window on the far side of the room. Heavy curtains were tied back to allow a view outside. On the adjacent wall was an antique looking dresser with black and white photos sitting in frames on top. A basket full of what looked like hand-knit blankets sat on the floor next to the dresser. Other than that, the only other things in the room were the two twin size beds which sat so close together, Dean wasn't sure he could even walk between them. He dropped his bag onto one of the beds and sauntered over to the window, peering out at the yard below. Behind him, he heard a mattress squeak loudly and he turned to find Sam sitting on the other bed with a frown on his face.

"What do you think, Sammy?" Dean asked, indicating the room with a wave of his hand.

"Sure." Sam said with a half-hearted smile. "It's nice. The beds are a little small–"

"And squeaky." Dean interrupted, falling back on his bed and grimacing as the rusty springs protested.

"It's good, though." Sam said. "In and out, remember?"

"I don't know. Poltergeists can be tricky." Dean replied with a smirk, sitting up and turning to face Sam.

Jack wasn't going to be home for a couple hours, so Sam and Dean decided to look around for EMF. Dean was a little bit surprised when nothing registered on the meter, but he decided to give the Hoopers the benefit of the doubt and at least hang out until morning to make sure nothing was going to turn up later. Besides, he was pretty sure there wasn't a motel in town, and he didn't know how far they might have to drive to find a town with some accommodations. They went outside and checked around the barn and other buildings just to be thorough. Then, with nothing else to do until dinner, went back up to their room to wait for Jack.

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><p>Dean heard the low rumble of the truck engine before anything else, and he got up from where he had been laying on the bed and went to the window. He watched as a rusted Ford pickup truck drove into the yard and parked by the barn. A man with jet black hair stepped out of the truck and headed toward the house.<p>

"I bet that's Jack." Dean commented, and Sam stood to join him at the window.

They headed downstairs to meet the man.

"Ah, you must be Sam and Dean." Jack said with a nod and a somber expression. He held out his hand to Dean. "I'm Jack. I take it you've met my wife Kay."

Dean took Jack's hand and grunted his agreement. "Good to meet you, Jack." He said politely. "Hopefully we can help you with this poltergeist problem."

Jack turned to shake Sam's hand and frowned. "Poltergeist, huh? If you say so. All I know is that something weird is going on."

Sam nodded and shook Jack's hand. "We'll figure it out."

Jack scratched the back of his neck and studied Sam and Dean like he was trying to decide weather or not they were good for the job. "Well, I sure hope you boys are hungry." He said after a moment. "I know I am. Kay makes the best pot roast."

Dean's stomach grumbled as Jack said the words. It had been ages since either of them had eaten anything except fast food and undercooked cafe meals. "That sounds great." He said.

Jack's serious expression finally broke into a smile. "We got pie for desert."

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><p>Dean leaned back in his chair and yawned, placing a hand over his full stomach. At this rate, he wasn't going to be able to stay awake until this poltergeist showed up. Jack wasn't kidding when he said that Kay made the best pot roast. He thought maybe they would try and squeeze in breakfast <em>and<em> lunch tomorrow before they left. They never really got paid for what they did, but a free, home cooked meal was just as good as money.

"Thanks, Kay, that was delicious." Sam said politely as she gathered their dishes.

"It's the least I could do." Kay replied, running a hand over Jack's shoulders as she reached for his plate. "I hope you saved room for pie."

Dean grinned. He always had room for pie.

Kay brought them each a slice of warm peach pie with a scoop of ice cream on the side. Dean ate his happily and had to resist licking the plate when he was done.

"That's the best pie I've ever had." He said, and he didn't think he was exaggerating.

Sam nodded in agreement. "Now, about this poltergeist, you say it only shows up at night?"

Right, they were here for a reason other than a free meal. Dean leaned forward and tried to pay attention as Jack explained the situation. His eyelids were so heavy, though. He had already been a bit tired to begin with. That meal must have just pushed him over the edge. He yawned, blinked, and tried to focus.

"Yep. The past week or so." Jack answered. "Shows up around midnight each night, throws things around the house, makes a bunch of noise."

"And you've... uh... you've never... seen it?" Sam asked. His speech was slow, words slurred, and Dean blinked at him in confusion. Sam's figure blurred in and out of focus. Okay, this was more than just being tired. Something was wrong.

"Nope. Never seen it." Jack said, or at least Dean thought that's what he said. The words were loud and somehow didn't seem real.

Kay was gathering their dishes again. "It sure makes a mess, though." She added, but her voice sounded distorted and weird.

Dean stood clumsily, knocking over the chair as he did so. "Sam..." He tried to warn his brother, but couldn't really remember what he was supposed to say. He was just so tired. That was it, he shouldn't be this tired. Something was wrong. "Sam." He tried again. "Something's... wrong."

Sam didn't answer, and Dean shook his head and tried to get a better view of his brother. Sam was hunched over, head resting on the table, eyes closed. When the hell did that happen? The light suddenly seemed too bright, and Dean's eyelids were so heavy.

"What'd you do?" He demanded, even as the room started to spin around him.

He managed to lock his eyes onto Jack's. Jack was smiling. And then the floor was rushing up to meet him, and everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean woke up on a cold, hard floor. His head hurt and his brain felt fuzzy. It was difficult to concentrate on anything other than the steady pounding behind his eyes. He groaned and rolled onto his back, opening his eyes to blink up at the ceiling where a single, bare light bulb hung dimly, almost at the end of its life. Dean pressed his palms to his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts. What was the last thing he remembered? The farm, the room, meeting Jack, dinner... and then?

He coughed and sat up, eyes flicking around the room. It was a small space with three cement walls and a fourth wall with a door. There was ancient wallpaper on that fourth wall, but it was peeling away and Dean could see the wood underneath. He got to his feet, steadying himself against the wall. He walked to the door and searched for a handle, but there was none. He tried pushing the door open, but it wouldn't budge. Cursing, he turned to examine the room. There was a small window near the ceiling with glass block panels, giving him an outside view of ground level. Too narrow to climb through, probably, even if he could break through the thick glass. A basement, Dean realized. He was locked in a basement, or at least a section of one. The realization did not sit well, and he wondered where Sam was.

He continued his tour of the room. There was a dirty blanket on the floor where Dean had been laying and a wooden rocking chair in the corner that looked like it had seen better days. On the opposite end of the space were some wooden shelves with a few jars of what Dean could only assume was canned vegetables. Under the shelves were a few empty cardboard boxes. Other than that, the room was empty. Dean went back to the door and pounded on the sturdy wood.

"Hello?" He shouted. He waited for an answer, but none came.

Looking at the door, Dean noticed a slot just below eye level, about ten inches wide and three inches high. It was closed and appeared to open from the outside. Dean tried sliding it open, but the thing was stuck. He kicked the door angrily and then turned to rest against it.

This wasn't good. Memories from being locked away in a warehouse flashed through Dean's mind. Memories that were still too fresh, too painful to talk about. It had only been six months since the showdown with Marcus, and Dean still had nightmares. Sam didn't want to talk about it, which was okay for now because Dean didn't know what to say. The same sense of helplessness washed over Dean as his eyes scanned the tiny room he was trapped in now, and he felt like he was back in that warehouse, unable to do anything at all as his world fell apart around him. Sam had been getting better, though. They were moving on. Leaving the past in the past. It couldn't be happening again. Dean refused to believe it.

Despite his best efforts, Dean couldn't stop the panic rising. He slid down to sit on the floor and pulled his knees to his chest. _This isn't happening again, _he repeated over and over in his head as he tried to control his breathing. Where the hell was Sam, though? Dean jumped to his feet and paced back and forth in front of the door. He needed to find Sam. He needed to do _something. _

He kicked the door again, and then again. "Sam!" He shouted, praying for an answer. Or maybe not. Would it be better if Sam didn't respond? Would that mean he's okay, and not trapped in the same basement on the other side of that wall?

Dean ran a shaky hand through his hair and tried to calm down. After a moment, though, it was clear that wasn't happening.

"Hello? Is anyone out there?" He tried again to yell through the door. "Sam?"

He was only answered with silence.

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><p>Dean couldn't be sure how long he had been in the room, but pale yellow rays of light were beginning to shine through the thick glass of the window. The light bulb had long since flickered out of existence, leaving the room with an eerie pre-dawn glow. Dean had already tried breaking the glass, of course. He had climbed up on the rocking chair and first tried knocking it out with his elbow. When that was unsuccessful, He broke off one of the arms on the chair and tried swinging it against the glass. That was even less effective, and only resulted in the rotten wood splintering into pieces. In a last ditch effort, Dean had thrown one of the glass jars from the shelves at the window, but was only rewarded with the jar's shattered glass on the floor and a mess of what Dean really hoped was tomatoes.<p>

After that, he had gone back to the door. He first tried ramming it with his shoulder, but it was soon apparent that that was getting him nowhere. He kicked until he thought he might have broken his foot, and then he tried the other leg. It was useless, though. The door was sturdy, and Dean wasn't going to be knocking it down any time soon.

Finally, he had resorted to sitting in the chair and just waiting for whatever was going to happen, to happen. He worried about Sam, and the time seemed to pass painfully slow. Occasionally, he would call out to anyone who might be listening beyond the door. He never got an answer, though. He wasn't sure if he wanted one.

Just when Dean started to think that maybe he was going to be left down in the basement forever, forgotten about and left to wither away, he heard a noise. It was soft at first, somewhere above him. Footsteps. He listened as the steps got louder, and then heard a door creak open. He jumped to his feet and prepared himself for a fight. The footsteps continued down a set of stairs, a steady thumping following, like something being dragged.

There was some commotion on the other side of Dean's door, and then the slot slid open. Dean rushed to the door, peering through the slot and meeting Jack's eyes.

"What the hell is this?" Dean demanded. "Where's Sam?"

Jack was quiet for a long moment, then he answered, slow and dangerous, "You know, Dean, I've been waiting for this for a long time."

Dean shook his head in confusion. "Waiting for what?"

"To get you and your brother here. I wasn't sure, at first, what I was going to do, but now I am. I'm going to make you suffer. Both of you. Sam first, long and good, so you can feel how I feel. Then, once he's dead, I'll move on to you."

Dean could hear the hatred in Jack's voice, could practically feel it rolling off him in waves. He didn't understand, though. This couldn't be happening. Not again.

"Why?" Dean croaked, anger and fear threatening to overpower him.

Jack narrowed his eyes. "I would think you of all people would understand the need to avenge your little brother. We're supposed to protect them, you know? Make sure they're safe. Especially in this business. Wouldn't you do the same if someone killed Sam?"

Dean shook his head, confused. "But we don't even know your brother." He protested. Maybe this was some mistake. It had to be.

Jack laughed a humorless laugh. "Sure you do. Oh, that's right, I told you my name was Hooper. Sorry about that, had to trick you into coming. The name's Jack Robbins."

Robbins. The name hit Dean like a ton of bricks. It was Marcus' name. Marcus Robbins. Dean didn't even know Marcus had a brother. He should have checked. He should have been more careful. There was no denying it now, this was happening.

"Jack." Dean said, trying to sound calm. "We didn't want to hurt your brother. He was hurting Sam. We had no choice. You said it yourself, it's our job."

"I know what happened." Jack snapped. "Marcus told me about you and Sam. He told me about Chris and your father. And he told me about Sam's _abilities._ He was just doing _his _job, Dean."

"Jack, please." Dean pleaded, but the slot in the door slid closed again before he could say anything else.

"Damn it!" Dean cursed, banging his fists against the door. "Don't you dare hurt him, Jack, you hear me?"

There were noises on the other side of the door. Thumping and scraping and something that sounded like duct tape being torn. Dean stood with his ear pressed to the door, trying to make out every sound, listening for any sign that Sam was over there. Dean had a sinking feeling that he already knew the answer.

After a few minutes, the commotion stopped and the slot opened again. Jack stood on the other side, peering in at Dean with dark, hateful eyes.

"Don't worry, Dean." Jack said. "He wont die. Not today. I have bigger plans for him."

"Jack!" Dean shouted after the man as he stepped away from the door. The slot was left open, though, and Dean rushed to it, trying to see into the room on the other side.

It was a lot like his room, but bigger, with more clutter and a staircase leading up to another door. Dean watched as Jack stepped to the side and out of view. He searched for Sam but didn't see him. Then Dean heard the scraping noise again and watched in horror as his unconscious brother was dragged across the floor into view, tied to a chair with duct tape covering his mouth and eyes.

"Sam." Dean said, despite knowing that Sam wasn't awake. His brother's head flopped to the side uncomfortably, and he put up no fight as Jack pulled him around the room. Dean turned his attention to the man who could hear him. "Jack, I swear to god, if you hurt him, I will kill you." He said, trying to sound threatening, but sounding more scared than anything.

Jack didn't acknowledge Dean's threat. He positioned Sam in the center of the room so Dean had a clear view, then turned and went back up the stairs. Dean watched him disappear through the doorway before turning back to Sam.

"Sam!" He shouted. "Sammy! Hey, come on, man. Wake up."

Sam didn't move and Dean heard Jack's footsteps returning.

"Sammy?" Dean tried again desperately.

Jack appeared at the top of the stairs and came down them holding a long rod of some sort. Dean's stomach dropped when he saw the two brass tips at the end. Cattle prod.

"Stay away from him!" Dean demanded, but Jack ignored him.

"This should wake him up, don't you think?" Jack asked, and pressed the prod to Sam's chest.

Sam jerked upright and tried to yell but the duct tape around his mouth muffled the sound. Jack pulled the prod away from Sam, and Sam leaned forward, breathing heavily through his nose. Dean watched as he tried to move his arms and found that he was tied down. His chest began moving more rapidly as he realized what was happening, and he tried again to talk through the tape.

"Sam." Dean said. He didn't know what he would tell Sam, didn't have a way of getting to him, but he had to let him know he was there.

Sam's head snapped up at the sound of Dean's voice, and a muffled "Dmm?" came from behind the tape.

"I'm right here, Sammy." Dean said, trying to sound reassuring. "I'm sorry."

Sam's forehead wrinkled with worry at Dean's words, and Dean quickly added, "You're going to be okay, Sam, I promise."

Jack smiled and pressed the cattle prod back to Sam's chest.

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><p><strong>If you don't remember (because I think his name was only mentioned once in Broken) Chris was Marcus' son. The one who killed himself and whose death Marcus blamed on John Winchester. <strong>

**That frustrating moment when you can't come up with any other words to describe the SLOT in the door. I hate that word now. Slot. What a stupid word. Also, the slot slides. He slid the slot. I mean, come on. **

**Well I hope you're enjoying it so far. I really love feedback! Thanks for reading!  
><strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to everyone reading, reviewing, and favorite-ing this story! **

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><p>Dean watched helplessly from behind the door as Jack shocked Sam again and again. Each time, Sam's body tensed, and after each shock he dropped his head and breathed heavily through his nose. He didn't make any sound, though, as the electricity coursed through his body, and Jack quickly got bored. Dean let out a relieved sigh when he dropped the cattle prod onto a nearby shelf and crossed his arms over his chest, watching Sam as he tried to catch his breath.<p>

"Impressive." Jack said thoughtfully as he circled around Sam's chair. "I guess I'll just have to try something different."

Dean watched Jack disappear up the stairs. "Sammy, you okay?" He asked.

Sam nodded but didn't try to speak through the tape.

Dean considered weather or not he should tell Sam who Jack was and why they were there. On one hand, Sam was going to find out sooner or later, and he deserved to know; but on the other hand, it might add unneeded panic. Sam was scared, Dean would know that even if he _couldn't_ see his brother's eyebrows creased with worry and hear his rapid breathing.

It's not like Sam was weak. He didn't scare easily. He was a hunter, for god's sake. He faced monsters and demons on an almost daily basis, but this? It was all too fresh in his mind. It was the feeling of having no control, of knowing that you were trapped and that someone wanted to hurt you, was _going _to hurt you, and there was nothing you could do about it. It was a scar that was still too fresh, and if Sam _did_ have a weakness, this was it.

Sam had been so quick to give up last time, so willing to blame himself. So convinced that in some twisted way he deserved what Marcus was dishing out. Dean wasn't about to let that happen again, wasn't about to let Sam fall into that defeated mindset. He couldn't.

Sam and Dean weren't alone for ten minutes before heavy footsteps on the wooden stairs alerted them to Jack's return. During that time, Sam had managed to get himself, and the chair he was securely tied to, halfway across the cement floor in Dean's direction. Dean wasn't entirely sure what his plan was if Sam would have reached his door. With Sam's hands tied to the chair arms, he couldn't have turned the doorknob – not that it would have made a difference, the door was locked. Nonetheless, it's not like they could just sit there and do nothing while they waited for Jack to come back. Maybe Dean could have stuck a few fingers through the slot in the door and at least managed to rip the duct tape off of Sam's eyes and mouth. The chair scraping against the floor as Sam moved was noisy, though, and Dean was sure that Jack was aware of their attempts to escape.

At the sound of the footsteps, Sam froze, and Dean cursed under his breath. He wondered what kind of explanations his brother was coming up with as to why they were in this situation – again. No doubt Marcus and the warehouse were flashing through his mind. It was all too similar to ignore, even if Sam hadn't been given the recap yet.

Dean watched Jack circle around Sam's chair. Sam remained still, listening, but unable to do anything. Jack stepped out of Dean's view and then back a second later, swinging a wooden baseball bat by his side as he walked. Dean's heart raced as he closed in on Sam, passing directly in front of Dean's view and showing off the bat menacingly. Sam wouldn't even know it was coming.

"Baseball bat." Dean said, feeling like a failure for just muttering those two words. Some protector he was. Some big brother. He couldn't help Sam, all he could do was let Sam know what type of weapon he was going to be facing, and watch as that warning did nothing at all to prevent Sam from being hurt from said weapon.

Sam's shoulder's tensed slightly at the words, but other than that he gave no indication that he had even heard what Dean said.

"Sammy..." Dean said, wishing for some magic words to make it better.

Jack circled around Sam's chair once more and came back to stand in front of Dean's door. Dean clenched his hands into fists, wanting nothing more that to break through the door and beat Jack to a pulp.

"Sorry, Dean." Jack said. "Private show." He slid the cover back over the slot.

Dean's anger was replaced with panic as he heard Jack's footsteps moving away from the door, closer to Sam.

"Sam!" He shouted, pounding his fists against the door. "Sammy!"

Dean could hear clearly the whoosh of air as Jack swung the bat. There was no mistaking the soft thud as the wood made contact with Sam's stomach or legs or face, and the muffled cry of pain from Sam. Dean sank to his knees and pressed an ear to the door. There was a soft crack and Sam cried out again. Possibly a rib breaking – maybe a different bone. Maybe it was Sam's scull. The rage was quickly returning, and Dean pounded again on the door.

"I'm going to kill you, Jack. Do you hear me!" He shouted. "You're a dead man!"

But Dean's threats were ignored as the beating continued.

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><p>By the time the noises on the other side of the door stopped, Dean had given up hoping that Jack would stop soon and was focused instead on just hoping that Sam would be alive when it was over. There was no way to be sure, but based on Dean's internal clock, Jack had spent a good twenty minutes using the bat on Sam. Dean heard every hit. Every broken bone. He knew Sam wasn't going to be in good shape, or even okay shape, but he <em>had<em> to be alive.

Dean held his breath and listened. He heard the bat drop to the ground, then a series of obscure sounds that he couldn't place. Dean listened intently, but didn't hear any signs of Sam. No muffled words, no heavy breathing – nothing that Dean could identify as Sam. He heard footsteps on the stairs and waited for them to fade away before he got to his feet, keeping an ear pressed firmly to the door.

"Sam?" He called, feeling almost positive that he wouldn't get a response from his brother. Best case scenario, Sam was unconscious on the other side of the wall. "Sam." He tried again. "Come on, man. If you're out there, make some noise. I can't see you."

Dean waited, but heard nothing.

After that, Dean went back to trying everything in his power to break down the door that blocked him from his brother and their escape. Periodically, he would stop long enough to catch his breath and listen for Sam through the door. He would shout Sam's name, but no response ever came. So Dean would go back to beating on the door, using the adrenaline to keep his rising panic at bay.

When he was too exhausted to throw himself against the door one more time, and so hungry that he barely had the strength to walk across the room to the rocking chair, he finally quit, collapsing into the chair and dropping his head into his hands. It had been hours. The lighting through the window was beginning to turn purple. The sun was setting. He had spent the entire day locked in that room with nothing to eat or drink, and Sam... where the hell was Sam? Was he really still unconscious next door, or had something worse happened?

"Sammy." Dean tried again, voice hoarse from dehydration and too much angry yelling. "Are you out there? Sam, please. Just answer me."

He waited for a long time to hear an answer, but none came.

The purple sky eventually turned black and Dean tried to fight against his exhaustion. He was so tired, though. If could just get some sleep, he could try again tomorrow. Tomorrow he would be strong enough to break down the door. He would find Sam locked away in some other room of the house, bruised, but alive. Maybe Sam would be annoyed that it took Dean so long to get them out, but they would be okay.

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><p>A noise startled Dean awake and he sat up quickly, head pounding, his eyes taking longer to adjust to the darkness than he would have liked. It took him a moment to realize where he was, and then another to realize that something had woken him. He listened in the dark but there was nothing. He licked his dry lips and blinked slowly. He was just about to call out for Sam once more when the noise came again. It was above him. Someone was awake in the house.<p>

Dean looked up at the ceiling and stared hard, as if he could see through to the room above if he just tried hard enough. A sliver of light appeared and Dean's eyes widened. Was he starting to hallucinate? He didn't think that just twenty-four hours without food or water would do that. As he watched, the sliver got wider and wider until there was a good sized chunk of the ceiling missing. Dean blinked against the bright light from the room above. It was some sort of trap door. He didn't know how he hadn't noticed it before, but decided that it must have blended in quite well with the ceiling.

He waited for a few seconds and then something came tumbling over the edge. It ht the floor with a thud as the door in the ceiling closed above him. Dean immediately recognized the Sam-shaped lump on the floor and he scrambled to his brother's side, turning him carefully onto his back.

"Sammy?" He said, feeling an odd need to whisper in the dark.

He first felt under Sam's nose to make sure he was breathing, and exhaled audibly when he felt the small puffs of air. He brushed the hair away from Sam's eyes and had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to control his anger. The left side of Sam's face was a swollen bruise. He had a gash across his cheek and there was blood dried in his hair and on his clothes. Dean moved his hands down Sam's arms, feeling for broken bones. He was pretty sure Sam's right arm was broken just below the elbow, but other than that Sam's arms were in okay shape, considering. He pulled up Sam's shirt and hissed at the sight. His brother's entire chest was one giant bruise. He gently felt for broken ribs and concluded that Sam had at least three.

As he moved to Sam's legs, he noticed something large in Sam's pocket and he pulled it out. It was a bottle of water, and Dean unscrewed the cap quickly and took two large gulps. He could have easily drank the entire thing, but it was smarter to save it for later. And besides, Sam would need some when he woke up.

The rest of Sam's body was free of broken bones.

Dean gathered up the dirty blanket he had been sleeping on and bunched it into a ball. He gently lifted Sam's head and placed the makeshift pillow underneath. As he watched Sam sleep, he was suddenly cold. He shivered, rubbing his hands against his arms.

After a minute, he retreated to the rocking chair and watched Sam until, eventually, he couldn't fight off the exhaustion any longer and he reluctantly fell back into a fitful sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks again for reading!**

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><p>Dean woke up slowly. His headache had intensified overnight, and he brought a hand to his face to squeeze the bridge of his nose, straightening in the chair and stretching his back. Dean let his eyes drift to the floor and land on Sam. He got to his feet and took a second to let the vertigo pass before stumbling over to Sam and kneeling beside him.<p>

"Sammy." He said, shaking his brother's shoulder gently.

Sam made a small noise and turned his head to the side.

"Come on, Sam." Dean encouraged, tapping lightly on Sam's less injured cheek.

Sam scrunched his eyes tightly and then blinked up at Dean.

"Dean?" Sam asked. He grunted as he tried to sit up, and Dean put a hand behind his back to help him. His forehead creased as he looked around the small room. "Where are we?"

"Jack's basement." Dean answered, handing him the water bottle and letting Sam's memory fill in the rest of the blanks.

Sam brought a hand up to his cheek and winced when his fingers brushed across the bruised skin. "What the hell is going on, Dean?"

Dean sighed and stood, looking up to the ceiling where the trap door had appeared the night before. If Dean looked very closely, he could see the outline of the door. If he stood on the rocking chair, he could probably just reach the ceiling, but there was no doubt that Jack had the door locked up tight. They weren't going to be able to just push it open and crawl out.

"We're going to get out of this, Sam." Dean said, avoiding the question.

Sam frowned and narrowed his eyes at Dean, a look that said he wasn't fooled. He knew Dean was hiding something, and he wanted to know what it was _right now. _

"Sam–" Dean started again, but Sam cut him off.

"Don't, Dean." He said sternly. "Just tell me what you know."

Dean sighed again and met his brother's eyes. "Jack is... well, he had a brother."

"Okay." Sam said, not understanding. "And?"

"And we knew him, and... it was Marcus."

Sam blinked, his expression blank. "Marcus?" He repeated quietly.

"I know. I should have checked out his living family members. I'm sorry, Sam, but I promise you–"

Sam cut him off again. "It's not your fault."

Sam–"

"No." Sam shook his head at the floor. "No, you're right. We'll get out of here." He brought his head up to look at Dean and nodded.

Dean nodded back, watching Sam's expression carefully. He didn't see any of the fear he had been expecting – only determination. "Yeah." He said, suddenly feeling confident. "Yeah we will." He pointed at the ceiling. "Jack dropped you through a trap door up there last night. Maybe we could get it open."

Sam nodded, getting to his feet, an arm wrapped protectively around his injured chest. He took a deep breath and winced.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"Mmm." Sam replied. "Baseball bat."

Dean didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything. He grabbed the rocking chair and dragged it across the floor until it was directly under the trap door. He did a few quick calculations in his head and decided that he would probably just be tall enough to brush the ceiling with his fingertips. Sam would be a better option, but with his broken ribs it would be difficult for him. Dean would try first.

He climbed up onto the chair and it rocked under his weight. Sam steadied the it as Dean reached for the ceiling. His calculations were right. He wasn't tall enough. Determined, he climbed onto the one remaining chair arm. At that height, he could press his palm flat against the trap door, and even have a little bit of room left over for pushing. He took a breath and pushed up against the door. Instead of the door opening, like Dean had hoped, the chair arm broke and Dean tumbled back to the cement floor, landing on his shoulder with a crash.

"Dean!" Sam said, kneeling beside him. "Are you okay?"

"M'fine." Dean said, brushing Sam off and rubbing at his sore shoulder. He looked back up to the ceiling. "Damn it." He muttered.

Sam stood and followed Dean's gaze to the ceiling. "Hold the chair." He said.

"Sam, your ribs." Dean protested.

"Look, I'm not really seeing any other option here."

Dean huffed stubbornly, but he knew Sam was right. Sam's broken ribs would be nothing compared to what Jack was going to do to him if they didn't escape. Dean held the chair with both hands as Sam climbed onto it. He watched Sam carefully, ready to catch him if the weak wood gave out under Sam's weight. Sam lifted an arm slowly above his head, wincing at the pull on his ribs. His broken arm remained wrapped around his chest. Dean held his breath while Sam pushed against the trap door, but the thing didn't budge. After a moment, Sam dropped his arm back to his side, breathing heavily.

"It's not moving." He said quietly.

"It's alright." Dean said, grabbing Sam's elbow and helping him off the chair. "Jack has to come in here sooner or later, right? He's not going to just leave us here." He hoped, anyway. "When he opens the door, we'll knock him out and get the hell outta here."

Sam nodded. Dean sat on the floor and rested the back of his head against the wall. His headache was pounding behind his eyes, making it difficult to concentrate on much else. His stomach growled loudly and Sam shot him a look.

"Man, I'm starving." Dean complained. "Have you eaten?"

"Not since dinner night before last." Sam answered, rubbing his stomach absent-mindedly. Then, as an afterthought, added, "You think he's gonna let us starve?"

Dean didn't know. It was possible. "No." He said. "Besides, we'll be out of here before then."

* * *

><p>An hour passed, maybe two. At some point, Dean made another attempt at breaking through the thick glass paneling of the window. It felt wrong to just be sitting there doing nothing as they waited, especially when Sam was on the other end of the room clutching his chest and taking shallow breaths to prevent his ribs from causing him too much pain. How long would Jack make them wait? Hours? Days? Until they were too weak to put up a fight?<p>

"Give it up, Dean." Sam said from the floor. "You're not breaking that glass."

"Damn it." Dean cursed, frustrated. "What the hell am I supposed to do, just sit here?"

"Yeah." Sam said matter-of-factly. "Save your strength for when Jack comes through that door."

It was a good suggestion, Dean had to admit. As much as he didn't like the thought of just waiting, he was going to need his strength. Besides, banging on the glass was doing nothing for his headache. He slid to the floor across from Sam, screwing off the cap of the water bottle and taking a small sip.

"Yeah, alright."

There was a noise above his head and Dean looked up. The trap door in the ceiling swung open and Jack stared down at them. For a moment, Dean was sure that Jack had a way to get Sam back up through the trap door. He scrambled to where Sam was sitting. If Jack was going to magically beam Sam up to him, Dean was coming, too.

"Why don't you come down here and face us like a man?" Dean taunted. "Sam will even sit out just to make it fair."

Jack's face remained emotionless. "Hope you boys are hungry." He said.

Dean's stomach growled in response.

Jack disappeared and then reappeared a second later holding a sealed tupperware container. He dropped the container into the room, followed by two bottles of water, then slammed the door closed.

Dean approached the container of food cautiously. Hell, for all he knew it was a bomb disguised as lunch. He pulled off the lid and looked inside. Two sandwiches with all the fixings stared back at him. He picked up one of the sandwiches and took a bite before sliding the container to Sam.

"Ham and cheese." He said, stuffing another bite into his mouth.

While Sam was finishing his sandwich, Dean leaned against the wall by the door. Jack had to come through sooner or later, and Dean was going to be ready. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling tired.

A thought occurred to him suddenly. Sure, it was entirely possible that he was just tired, but it was just as likely that Jack put something in their food again. He mentally kicked himself for not being more cautious, and for letting his stomach do his thinking.

He pushed away from the wall, and sure enough, the sudden movement threw him off balance. He fell to his knees.

"Dean?" Sam's concerned voice sounded far off.

"No, no, no." Dean chanted, climbing back to his feet. "Sam. The food." He managed to mutter with a mouth that was refusing to work right.

He heard Sam curse and he tried stepping toward his brother, but the room was spinning and he couldn't focus. He blinked and he was on the floor again, Sam above him. He couldn't really remember why he was on the floor, but by the look on Sam's face, it probably wasn't a good thing.

"Dean." Sam was saying his name. "Dean!"

Dean closed his eyes and let his mind drift away.

* * *

><p>Somewhere in the distance, someone was talking. Dean couldn't quite make it out, though, and it was so far away. Maybe he was dreaming.<p>

The noise came again. The talking. Only it wasn't really talking – that wasn't the best word to describe it. It was more like shouting. Yelling. Maybe even screaming. And it sounded familiar, but it was behind some sort of thick blanket that Dean couldn't find his way out from under.

Dean focused on the sound, held on to it and let it lead him out of the darkness. As it became more clear, he recognized the voice, and he listened harder. He couldn't make out actual words, but it was Sam. That bit of knowledge pulled him the rest of the way back to consciousness. He opened his eyes and reality came crashing down on him.

He was in the room. The same sectioned off piece of basement he had been trapped in for the past two days. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the soft black spots that still lingered on the edge of his vision. The slot on the door was open, and Dean could hear Sam on the other side. Whatever was going on, Dean was pretty sure he didn't want to see it. He didn't have a choice, though, and he staggered toward the door, using the wall for support.

"Sam." He called hoarsely before even reaching the door. There was no break in the commotion in the other room. "Sammy?" He tried again as his fingers brushed against the wood of the door. He pressed his face against it and peered out through the small opening.

Sam was sitting in a chair in the same spot as before – directly in front of the door Dean was behind. It was intentional, meant to torture both of them simultaneously. Sam, physically; and Dean, emotionally.

Sam was shirtless, his arms tied around the back of his chair, exposing his bare chest. The skin there was red and swollen, bleeding in some places. Jack held a metal rod, the tip of it red hot. As Dean watched, Jack pressed the rod to Sam's chest, and Sam threw his head back and tried to muffle a scream.

"Stop!" Dean shouted.

Jack turned sharply to face Dean, while Sam's head rolled lazily forward, his eyes unfocused and landing on nothing in particular.

"Dean?" Sam panted.

"Good of you to join us." Jack said, turning his attention back to Sam. He pressed the bar again to Sam's chest, and Sam's face twisted in agony.

"Jack, please." Dean begged, wrapping his fingers around the edge of the small window and squeezing until his knuckles were white, silently praying that by some miracle the wood would crumble under the pressure and Dean would be able to get to Sam.

It didn't, though, and Jack ignored him as well.

Jack didn't leave the red-hot metal on Sam's skin for long before he pulled it away. Usually just long enough to leave a really nasty looking blister that would undoubtedly cause pain and problems in the near future, but for time being wasn't life threatening. Once in a while, though, he pressed too hard or left the hot metal against Sam's skin too long and left open, bleeding sores.

Dean knew some of the risks involved with burns, infection being the most worrisome. Would Jack at least wrap Sam's chest in a sterile bandage when he was done? It was possible, but Dean kind of doubted it.

He watched his brother closely. Sam was out of it, hardly even struggling any more. His head lolled from side to side as his brain tried to signal that he was in pain but his body was too exhausted to do anything more about it. He would lose consciousness soon. Dean could only hope that Jack would stop once he did.

Throughout it all, Dean varied between trying to comfort Sam, pleading for Jack to stop, and yelling threats and profanities when he was ignored. He was always ignored. Jack didn't even shift his eyes toward Dean, and it was infuriating.

Finally, Sam's head dropped to his chest and remained motionless. Dean watched worriedly as Jack grabbed on to Sam's hair and pulled his head back. He studied Sam for a long moment, as if trying to decide if Sam was really unconscious or if he was just faking it. Maybe trying to determine if he was even still alive. Dean swallowed hard at the thought and focused on Sam's chest. Sam was breathing – he was alive.

Jack let Sam's head fall back to his chest and he finally turned to face Dean.

"Did you enjoy the show?" He asked with a blank, emotionless stare.

"I'm going to kill you." Dean snarled.

Jack shrugged and walked toward Dean until they were face to face, just the thick wood of the door separating them.

"We'll see." He said, and slid the cover back in place over the slot.


	5. Chapter 5

This time, Dean didn't have to wait long before the trap door in the ceiling opened. As soon as he saw it, Dean moved quickly and was ready to catch Sam when Jack dropped him through. Sam's weight threw Dean off balance and they both tumbled to the floor. He lowered Sam's head gently before shifting his attention back to the floor above them where he could hear footsteps. Jack appeared above him and tossed a white box down to Dean. Dean caught it before it could land on Sam, and looked down at the first aid kit Jack had given him.

"Don't want Sam dying just yet." Jack explained briefly before letting the trap door fall back in place.

Dean quickly gathered up the blanket and placed it carefully under Sam's head. He didn't have a lot of experience with burns, but he knew the basic goal of patching up any wound was to get it as clean as possible and get it covered. Dean opened the first aid kit and scowled at the limited supplies Jack had allowed them to have. It wasn't nearly everything he needed, but it was better than nothing.

Dean pulled a rolled up elastic bandage out of the kit. With no antiseptic wipes or anything to clean Sam's burns, Dean had to settle on using some of the water from the bottles Jack had given them. He poured a small amount over Sam's chest and used a section of the elastic bandage to dab it dry. Even unconscious, Sam groaned quietly at the pain.

"Sorry, Sammy." Dean said softly.

After he was finished with the water, he carefully wrapped the elastic bandage around Sam's chest – difficult with Sam unconscious, but doable. Dean had done it before. Feeling unsatisfied, but not being able to do anything else, he took off his own overshirt and laid it over Sam to act as a crappy blanket, then he went back to the first aid kit to examine the other items inside.

Dean pulled out plastic gloves, another elastic bandage, and a small bottle of ibuprofen. He looked at the bottle suspiciously, then popped off the cap and poured a few of the small round pills into his hand. They looked like ibuprofen, but he decided it wasn't worth the risk. Why would Jack give them pain killers? He dumped the pills back into the bottle and put everything back into the kit. Jack had taken out anything that Dean could have used as a tool or weapon, like a scissors or safety pins. He tucked the kit behind the shelves on the far side of the room and went to sit by Sam.

As he waited for Sam to wake up, Dean wondered how Jack was planning on getting Sam out of the room a second time. Surely he didn't think they would fall for the sedative in the food trick again, but Dean wasn't going to eat anything Jack gave him, just to be safe. Maybe the ibuprofen had been his plan.

The sun was starting to set and the room was getting dark. Dean didn't feel tired anymore, though. A part of it was probably fear – the fear of not knowing how Jack was going to come at them next. He couldn't sleep, couldn't even close his eyes. He couldn't let Jack get his hands on Sam again. Sam might not make it through another round of Jack's games.

Sam groaned and shifted.

"Sammy?" Dean said, placing his hand gently on Sam's shoulder. "Hey, Sam, you awake?"

Sam's face twisted from the pain of the burns and his eyes opened a sliver.

"Hey." Dean said, squeezing Sam's shoulder lightly.

"Dean?" Sam brushed a hand across the bandages on his chest and winced. "He patched me up?"

"I did." Dean corrected. "He threw down a first aid kit. Here." Dean twisted the cap off a water bottle and handed it to Sam. "He gave us some ibuprofen, but I don't think we should risk it."

Sam sat up and hissed out a sharp breath. He took a small sip of the water. "It's alright, I'll live."

"Damn right you will." Dean agreed. "Because we're getting out of here. No drugged food, no pills, we're not taking anything he gives us. He'll have to open the door, and this time we'll get him."

Sam nodded and laid back against the hard floor, breathing heavily from the small amount of energy it took to sit up and have a drink of water.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"Other than the burns, the broken bones, and the bruises?" Sam said. "Yeah, I'm good."

"We'll be out of here soon."

Sam just nodded again and closed his eyes. Dean could see the tightness in Sam's jaw, his brother trying to deal with the pain and hide it from Dean. Dean wasn't falling for it though. Sam was seemingly handling it all so well, going through all of this again, but Dean could see right through it.

"Sam..."

Sam opened his eyes and looked at Dean expectantly.

Dean didn't know what to say. It was a problem he seemed to have, especially when it came to his brother. There were always things he wanted to say to Sam, things he should say – comforting things that would somehow protect Sam from all the pain and evil in the world, but Dean couldn't ever quite figure out the words.

He opened his mouth, let it hang there dumbly for a moment, and then a loud noise surprised them both from just outside the room.

Sam pulled himself back up into a sitting position, and Dean spun to face the door.

"The hell was that?" Dean wondered, stepping cautiously toward the door.

They waited to hear the sound again, but there was nothing. Dean pressed his ear to the wooden door, listening. Suddenly, the door was flung open, sending Dean scrambling backwards. He fell onto his butt and looked up. Jack was standing in the doorway with a weapon, a gun, pointing directly at Dean. Dean pushed himself up onto his knees, but that was all the further he got before a sharp pain in his shoulder made him stop. He looked down to the shoulder. There were feathers.

"What?" He said, confused. Suddenly he felt dizzy.

He managed to get to his feet, and he took a step toward Jack, who was blurring in and out of focus. He had to protect Sam. Couldn't let Jack get Sam. He repeated his brother's name in his head to remind himself what he was doing – to stay focused. Somewhere behind him, Sam was doing the same thing with his name. Dean could hear him.

"Dean. Dean. _Dean_!"

Had Sam been hit, too?

Dean took a clambering step toward Jack and swung at him with a slow, lazy arm. Jack moved easily out of the way. _Sam, _Dean said to himself. _Protect Sam. _He jumped forward, actually jumped. Jack was surprised, and put his arms out to protect himself from Dean's forward momentum. Dean felt their bodies collide with a kind of distant numbness, and he felt Jack go down underneath him. As the world slipped further and further away, Dean was helpless to do anything except hold on for dear life – for _Sam's _life. So that's what he did. He wrapped his arms and legs around Jack as tightly as he could muster with his dwindling strength, and he closed his eyes, and he held on.

"Go, Sam." He said, hopefully aloud. He wasn't sure where Sam was anymore, if he had also been hit with the tranquilizer, but he had to hold on to the hope that Sam could hear him and that he could escape before Dean went completely under. "G'dout." He mumbled, feeling himself losing the battle to stay conscious.

He felt his grip loosen, and he tried to hold on, but he couldn't do it anymore. "Sam." He said once more, before the blackness overtook him.

* * *

><p>When Dean opened his eyes again, it was dark. He immediately suspected the worst – that he had failed, yet again, to protect Sam, and that his brother was, at this moment, on the other side of the wall going through some kind of terrible pain. Dean quickly realized, though, that this was different. It was colder here than in the basement, and it smelled different. Like dirt and worms and and something else Dean couldn't identify. He turned his head to the side and groaned at the sharp burst of pain that exploded behind his eyes.<p>

"Dean? Thank god."

It was Sam's voice. Sam was okay – at least enough to be talking. Dean pushed himself up onto his elbows and let his eyes adjust to the dim blue light of the moon.

"Where are we? What happened?" Dean asked. Then, re-thought his priorities and added, "Are you okay?"

"We're outside." Sam answered, turning his attention back to the crack in the wall where the moonlight was shining through. "In some sort of shed."

"We got out?"

Sam turned back to him, his face serious. "We're still here, Dean." He said. "We're in the yard. I couldn't drag you any further." He turned back to the crack in the wall, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He's out there. I saw him about ten minutes ago."

"You dragged me out here?" Dean asked dumbly. It didn't seem possible, what with Sam's burns, bruises, and broken bones.

"After you tackled Jack, I knocked him out with one of those jars on the shelves." Sam explained. "You were out of it, though, so I had to drag you up the stairs and out the front door." He paused long enough to shoot Dean a sideways glance. "There aren't any cars around here." He said, sounding annoyed. "I couldn't find the Impala, so I hid."

"How are you doing?" Dean asked, studying his brother's back.

Sam rolled his shoulders. "I'm fine."

Dean nodded to himself. They weren't completely out of the woods yet, but Dean could work with this. He searched the small area of the shed until his eyes landed on a golf bag. He stood and pulled out two clubs.

"Alright." He said, clapping a hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam turned and Dean handed him a club. "We get out of here, and we start walking. When we get back into town we can find help. Once we know you're going to be okay, we can come back here and kick this guy's ass."

Sam took the club from Dean and frowned. "Town's eight miles." He said softly, wrapping an arm around his bandaged chest.

"Yeah." Dean said. "But I'm not seeing another option." He studied Sam for a moment. "We'll take it slow." He promised.

They crept around the side of the shed they had been hiding in, Dean in the lead, both armed with golf clubs. Dean peeked around the corner into the yard in front of the house. It was dark, illuminated only by a dimly shining yard light and the moon. He waited for any movement, any sign of Jack or his wife, but he saw nothing.

Signaling to Sam, they both darted from behind the shed and moved to hide behind another, smaller building. A chicken coop, maybe. Once again, Dean waited. He could hear Sam's labored breathing behind him. After a minute of nothing happening, Dean gave the signal to move on to the next location – a tractor parked next to the house. After that, it was a clear shot down the driveway to the road. They could get into the corn field on the other side and follow the road, staying hidden in the corn.

They started to run for the tractor, but only made it halfway before something slammed into Dean's side, knocking him to the ground. Surprised, Dean scrambled backward and swung the golf club blindly. The club hit nothing but air, and Dean looked up to find Jack glaring down at him.

"Run, Sam!" Dean ordered, jumping to his feet.

He swung again, missed, and took off toward the house, dragging Sam along behind him. As they ran, Dean threw a look over his shoulder, expecting to see Jack following close behind. But Jack hadn't moved other than to turn his head toward the house. Dean followed his gaze and saw Kay on the front porch holding a gun aimed at them.

"Down!" Dean shouted and dropped to the ground, pulling Sam down with him.

Sam grunted as he hit the ground next to Dean, and the gun fired. Dean pushed himself up to his knees and patted his chest, then turned to Sam.

"You okay?" He asked.

Sam was on his knees, hunched over and panting. His face was twisted in pain, but Dean didn't know if it was from his pre-existing injuries or if he had been hit.

Dean looked back to the house. Kay was still there with the gun, but at least it wasn't pointing at them anymore. Jack was making his way toward them.

"Sam! Are you hit?"

Sam reached up to his shoulder and Dean's stomach dropped when Sam brought his hand away covered in blood.

"Shit."

Dean looked anxiously to Jack. He was closing in on them quickly. He shoved Sam's hands away to get a better look at the wound. It was bleeding, but it was just a shoulder hit. Sam would be fine, so long as he didn't bleed to death.

Dean brought his head down to meet Sam's eyes.

"Hey. We gotta move, Sammy. You good?"

Sam nodded, and Dean helped him up. He spared on more quick look at Jack, who was now jogging toward them. Dean suddenly had a different idea.

"Stay behind me." He said to Sam.

Sam gave him a questioning look, but did as he was told. Jack reached them with a weapon of his own – the baseball bat he had used on Sam in the basement. But Dean was ready for him. He ducked under Jack's swing and then jumped back up and swung his own weapon. This time, the club hit it's target.

A sickening crack rang out as the golf club hit the side of Jack's head, and Jack dropped like a ton of bricks. Dean caught him before he hit the ground and hooked his arms under Jack's armpits, using him as a human shield to block them from Kay. On the porch, Kay was fuming, the gun aimed directly at them, but she wouldn't fire. She wouldn't risk hitting her husband.

"You drop him, Dean Winchester." She ordered in a tone that oddly reminded Dean of a mother scolding her child.

Dean stepped backward, Sam pressed to his back, Jack unconscious in front of him. They moved this way until they were at the end of the driveway. Kay kept the gun aimed at them the entire time.

"Go into the cornfield and get down." Dean said to Sam. "Don't let her get a clear shot."

"Dean–"

"Just go, Sam!"

Dean felt Sam move away from him and listened for the rustling of the corn before he made his move. Kay was off the porch now, gun aimed directly at him, just waiting for a clear shot. Dean took a deep breath, dropped Jack, and jumped toward the corn. He hit the dirt just as the gunshot rang out. After taking a second to calm himself and make sure he wasn't hit, he called out for Sam. Sam was by his side quickly, looking pale.

Dean motioned to him to move further into the corn. They moved slowly, careful not to make much noise. Dean knew Kay would come to get Jack, but he didn't think she would follow them into the field. She may have a gun, but she wouldn't have a clear view, and they could easily ambush her. Still, it was better to get away from the road for now.

They walked deeper into the field for a while, then turned toward the direction of town, or at least what Dean _hoped _was the direction of town – it was all too easy to get turned around with the corn blocking their view of any landmarks. As they walked toward town, they slowly moved back toward the road until there was just one row of corn separating them. Sam's shoulders were hunched forward as he shuffled along next to Dean, eyes fixed on the ground. Dean stood shoulder to shoulder with him, an arm wrapped around his back, supporting some of his weight. It was slow going.

After a long while, they came to the end of the cornfield where another road crossed the one they were following. Beyond that there were trees lining the road instead of corn. Sam hunched forward and coughed.

"Hey. You gonna make it?" Dean asked, worried.

"Yeah." Sam answered. He took a step forward and stumbled. Dean caught him and helped him regain his balance.

"We're almost there."

In actuality, Dean wasn't really sure how far they had walked, but he knew they weren't close. Still, it felt like something he should say. He glanced at the road behind them, looking for any sign of approaching headlights. Once he decided it was safe, they made their way quickly – well, as quickly as they could in Sam's condition – across the road and into the row of trees. They paused there for a moment while Sam caught his breath.

"You good?" Dean asked after Sam's breathing had more or less evened out.

Sam closed his eyes tightly and nodded. He opened them again and blinked at Dean. "Let's go."

* * *

><p><strong>We're super busy at my work right now and I'm scheduled for 65 hoursweek for the next few weeks, so I'm sorry if it takes a little longer than usual to get chapters up. I'll try to keep updating quickly, but don't hate me if you have to wait a _little_ bit longer than usual! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry for the wait. And sorry this chapter is so short. I figured a little bit of something was better than nothing at all. I hope you enjoy. :) **

* * *

><p>It didn't take long for Dean to realize that their plan of walking all the way back to town wasn't going to work out as well as he had hoped. Sam was having a hard time staying upright, much less putting one foot in front of the other. They moved at a slow pace, Sam with one arm thrown over Dean's shoulders for support, the other hand pressed to his shoulder where he had been shot. Dean was keenly aware that the bullet was still in Sam's shoulder and that they needed to get it out as soon as possible. He didn't have any tools though, so they trudged on.<p>

They had been walking, Dean figured, for a little over an hour, when lights in the distance caught Dean's attention. Sam's head was down, so he wasn't aware of the approaching vehicle. Dean stopped suddenly and Sam looked up.

"Dean?"

"Look." Dean nodded toward the headlights in the distance.

Sam followed Dean's gaze and Dean felt him tense.

"What if it's Jack?" Sam said, anxiety in his voice.

"It's not Jack." Dean said. "It's coming from the wrong direction." He turned to look at the row of trees they were walking along on the side of the road. "Here. Just wait here."

He helped Sam over to the closest tree and left him there, then walked into the road and stood in the path of the car. As the car came closer it began to slow until it came to a complete stop in front of Dean. The driver, probably wary of Dean's dirty, blood-stained clothes – not to mention the fact that he appeared to be some random nut job standing in the road in the middle of the night – didn't get out of his car. He left the headlights shining in Dean's eyes and rolled his window down just a crack.

"Hey, buddy, what the hell are you doing?" He hollered.

Dean circled around to the driver's side of the car, careful not to come too close and possibly scare the man away.

"My brother and I, we need help." Dean said, putting his palms out in a gesture that Dean hoped the man would interpret as peaceful. "He's got broken bones and burns and he's been shot. Can you take us to a hospital? Please?"

The man in the car squinted out the windshield into the darkness beyond where his headlights illuminated the road, and then turned to look over his shoulder. "Where's your brother?" He asked cautiously.

Dean motioned for Sam, and Sam staggered out from behind the tree to meet Dean by the car. Dean watched the man's eyes widen when he saw Sam and took in his appearance. The man finally opened his door and stepped out of the car, still watching Sam and Dean with a cautious eye.

"Yeah. I can take you to a hospital." He said, opening the door for the back seat.

Dean helped Sam into the car. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw as he positioned himself in the seat, breathing in quick, short bursts. His pale skin, glistening with sweat, made Dean feel impatient and worried. They needed to get to a hospital. He started to climb in after Sam.

"Watch your head." The man said next to him.

Suddenly there was a hand in Dean's hair and his head was being pushed forward. Caught off guard, Dean didn't have time to react before his forehead slammed painfully into the side of the vehicle. Dazed, he started to stand up but didn't get far before the hand was back in his hair, and his head, once again, slammed against the car. Dean fell to his back on the pavement and tried to blink away the dark spots on the edge of his vision.

There was some distant shouting and then a loud crash, and then Dean's vision blurred and he lost the battle to stay conscious.

* * *

><p>Before Dean was even fully awake, he was aware that something was wrong. Like some part of his brain was still fully alert and was screaming at the rest of him to wake up. He squeezed his eyes tighter and brought his hands up to press at his temples. He held them there for a minute, trying to chase away the throbbing headache, and then opened his eyes slowly.<p>

It was dark, but Dean immediately recognized the same sectioned-off piece of basement he had escaped from just hours ago.

"No." He said, sitting up too quickly and causing the dark spots to return and threaten his vision. He ignored them and stood, eyes flicking around the familiar room. "No, no, no."

He went to the door and pounded on it, feeling the panic rise in his chest. "Sam!"

When he didn't hear an answer he turned and sank to the floor, back pressed against the door. He pulled his knees to his chest and gripped his hair tightly between his fingers. There was a very good chance that Sam was already dead, and that thought was the only thing Dean could seem to concentrate on. The man in the car, whoever he was, must have brought them back to Jack. _Why, _Dean wondered, and banged the back of his head angrily against the door, sending a sharp burst of pain through his skull. He groaned and brought a hand up to rub at the spot.

It was early morning, judging by the light outside the window, and Dean sat in the room until the sun was high in the sky. He didn't bother trying to break the glass in the window or knock down the door. It wouldn't work, anyway. He did, however, spend a good portion of the morning yelling to anyone in the house who might be listening. He made as much noise as he could in the hopes that Jack would get tired of the sound and come to deal with him. Maybe he would just open up the trap door in the ceiling and shoot him. Whatever. It didn't matter. If Sam really _was_ dead, Dean just wished Jack would hurry up and get on with it already.

He yelled until his throat was raw and he could barely speak, let alone yell, and then he threw the glass jars across the room one by one and found some sort of weird satisfaction in hearing them crash against the wall and fall to the floor. After that, he sank back to the floor, buried his face in his knees, and prayed that by some miracle, Sam was alive. He silently offered up his soul if Sam would just be okay. He didn't know if God or angels or whatever made deals for souls, didn't know if he even believed in God really, but he was desperate; and if some angel were to show up out of nowhere and agree to make the deal, Dean wouldn't hesitate.

It was another hour or so after that when Dean finally heard the footsteps coming down the stairs. He jumped to his feet, positioned himself in front of the door, and waited. Whoever was on the other side – Jack, presumably – moved around for a while, not making any excess noise, but not making any attempt to keep quiet, either. Dean listened closely.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, getting impatient. He pounded on the door with his fist. "Open this door, you son-of-a-bitch. Fight me like a man. Come on, let's get this over with."

The commotion on the other side paused for a long moment, then resumed. After a few minutes, the slot in the door slid open unexpectedly and Jack stared through at Dean. Dean clenched his jaw and glared back at Jack.

"Where's my brother?" He demanded.

Jack shrugged and gave Dean an uninterested frown. Dean could see the boredom in his expression, like he had just simply been in the middle of grabbing something from the basement and was annoyed that he had to take time out of his chore to stop and talk to the person he had locked up in the other room. More than anything, it just reinforced Dean's theory that Sam was already dead. He bit the side of his cheek hard to stop himself from screaming or crying or whatever the hell his emotions were doing. Dean took a breath and tried a different approach.

"Who was that guy we met in the road?" He asked. "Friend of yours?"

Jack gave a short chuckle. "Called him when you escaped." He said amusedly. "Figured you'd follow the road back to town. Randy woulda had to run into you sooner or later."

Dean mentally added another name to the list of people who were going to die once this was all over. He banged his fists against the door once more and moved his face closer until he was eye to eye with Jack.

"Where is my brother." He said slowly, stressing every word. It wasn't a question, it was a demand.

Jack turned his back to Dean and started to walk away. The rage that Dean could feel boiling in his stomach was enough that Dean knew he could kill Jack with his bare hands if he would just be given a chance. It would be easy, and he would enjoy it.

Jack paused before he reached the stairs. "Sam's alive, if that's what you're so worried about." He said, back still turned to Dean.

Dean felt the rage quickly being pushed away. He was still angry, of course, but it was nothing compared to the relief that was replacing the anger. He rested his forehead against the wood and breathed deep.

"I wouldn't count on him staying that way for much longer, though." Jack added, as if it were just an afterthought. "You'd better start planning your next escape."

He sauntered up the stairs, leaving Dean alone in the basement feeling angry and scared and defeated. Sam was alive, _thank god_, but Dean still had no way of getting to him. No way of breaking free of the room. Even if he could, they would be back to square one. They weren't able to make it to town the first time, who says they would have any better luck on the second try? If Sam still had that bullet in his shoulder, they had even less of a chance of making it than before.

Dean sat against the door, gripped his hair in his hands, and prayed for a miracle.

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><p><strong>So how many people thought they had actually escaped? hehe. I promise I'll try to get the next chapter up ASAP. Thanks for reading! <strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry about the wait! Thanks for being patient!**

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><p>Heavy footsteps on the floor above Dean caught his attention. They were moving fast, with purpose. Dean could hear Jack's muffled voice. He couldn't make out the words, but Jack sounded serious. Another voice, softer, female. Jack and Kay were arguing, and as it escalated, Dean could hear the urgency in both their tones. He titled his head to the side to hear better, but he still couldn't quite put together the words.<p>

A gunshot rang out and Dean jumped, startled. He got to his feet and rushed to the door. _No, no, no, _he pleaded silently, because unless Kay got angry enough to shoot Jack, the only other option Dean could think of was that the bullet was intended for Sam. Then there was more heavy footsteps, and another gunshot. _Two shots? _Dean tried to put it together in his head. Maybe Jack was a terrible shot and had missed the first time. Unlikely. Dean held his breath.

He heard Kay's voice, then Jack's, both shouting, and then there were footsteps rushing down the stairs to the basement. Dean backed away from the door and armed himself with the ancient rocking chair. For a while, nothing happened. Then the slot in the door opened and Jack peered in. A second later, after he saw Dean in the center of the room, the door was thrown open and Jack took one step in, aiming a gun directly at Dean's head.

Dean had just a second to register what was happening and to jump to the side before the gun fired. He felt the bullet graze the side of his neck and he brought a hand to the spot, pulled it away covered in blood. It wasn't a serious wound, though. Just enough to break the skin and cause bleeding. Dean looked up at Jack from where he was now sitting on the floor. Jack looked back down at him with a furious glare. Distantly, Dean heard commotion upstairs, but he wasn't in the presence of mind to wonder what was going on above him. Jack was re-aiming the gun.

Dean scrambled, a shot rang out, and Dean closed his eyes, knowing he was too slow and waiting for the pain. A second passed, then another. Dean cautiously opened an eye. Jack wasn't in the doorway. He opened his other eye and got shakily to his feet. Jack was on the floor, laying in a slowly forming pool of his own blood.

"What the..."

Dean didn't have time to put together a thought before a familiar figure in a baseball cap was stepping over Jack's body and rushing to Dean's side.

"Bobby?" Dean asked. He felt dizzy with the sudden wave of relief that washed over him, and he put a hand against the chair to steady himself.

"Dean." Bobby said seriously. "You're hit." He pulled Dean's hand away from his neck where the bullet had grazed him.

"It's just a flesh wound." Dean said dismissively, pushing Bobby's hand away.

Bobby seemed willing to accept this for now, and he glanced around the small room. "Where's Sam?" He asked.

Dean's stomach felt like it had turned to ice. In all the excitement of almost being shot, and Bobby's rescue, Dean had just assumed that Sam was already safe, just waiting in Bobby's truck for him to get Dean so they could leave.

"Wait, what?" He asked. "You didn't see him?"

Bobby's eyes widened and he shook his head. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder and met his eyes. "Are you okay?"

Dean nodded, though he didn't feel okay. Physically, though, he was fine.

"Let's find Sam." Bobby turned and stepped back over Jack's body and headed back up the stairs.

Dean followed, deliberately kicking Jack's lifeless body as he stepped over it and out of the room. Upstairs, Dean didn't see any sign of Kay, and he suddenly felt on edge.

"Did you see the wife?" Dean asked Bobby.

Bobby nodded grimly, and Dean interpreted it to mean that Kay wouldn't be posing a threat any time soon. He decided to hold off on questions until after they found Sam. They searched the main level of the house first. Sam wasn't in the kitchen or living room. He wasn't in any of the closets Dean found, and Bobby checked the bathroom and the main floor bedroom. They came up with nothing.

Bobby headed outside while Dean jogged up the stairs, desperately calling Sam's name and hoping for a response. He checked the guest bedroom that they had thought they would be staying in, and found their things still sitting where they had left them. Dean made a mental note to come back for it all once they found Sam and knew he was safe. He made his way down the hall to another office-type room, and then checked the upstairs bathroom. Sam was nowhere to be found.

Frustrated, Dean ran back down the stairs and headed outside to check in with Bobby. He stopped abruptly on the deck when he saw Kay. She wasn't in any better shape than Jack, laying on the wooden deck in a puddle of her own blood, and Dean took a second to marvel at Bobby's fantastic ability to always show up and save the day whenever they needed him the most. He took a deep breath and scanned the large yard with his eyes. Sam could be in any of the numerous outbuildings that littered the surrounding area. As a matter of fact, who even said Sam was anywhere on Jack's property? Maybe Jack's friend from the road took Sam somewhere else. Maybe Jack had been planning on meeting up with him later. Dean pushed away the sinking feeling that thought gave him and chose a building. The old shed that they had hidden in on their first escape attempt seemed as good a place to start as any.

Dean opened the door to the shed and peered into the darkness. As it was the last time he was inside, the shed was filled mostly with tools. A few random items, like the golf bag, were thrown here and there.

"Sam?" Dean called. He could see everywhere inside the shed. It was small and there wasn't really anything to hide behind, so Dean was sure Sam wasn't inside, but he called anyway.

Back outside, Dean noticed Bobby jogging across the yard.

"Anything?" Dean hollered.

"Not yet." Was Bobby's reply.

Dean moved on to the next closest building. It was a large building, with two huge doors. Some kind of garage, Dean assumed. He pulled open one of the heavy doors just enough to crawl under and get inside. There were vehicles in this building. The truck Jack had been driving when they had first met him, a 4-door sedan, an SUV, and there, in the very back, the Impala. Dean checked behind and underneath each vehicle as he made his way through the garage, then stopped to get a weapon out of the trunk of the Impala before moving on to the next location. You never knew when you might need a gun, even if the immediate threat had been eliminated.

"I'll come back for you." He promised his car, and then headed back into the yard.

Outside again, Dean scanned the yard for Bobby. Not seeing him, he started toward another building, when he heard Bobby yell his name. Dean turned on his heels and sprinted toward the direction of Bobby's voice.

"Bobby?" He yelled once he had crossed the yard. "Sam?"

"Dean!" Bobby's voice came from inside a tiny garden shed, hardly big enough to fit two people. Dean reached the door and felt his stomach drop at the sight in front of him.

Sam was there. Tied to a chair, shirtless. Strangely, Dean's first thought was, _it's cold out here. Sam must be cold. _But it was so much worse than that. Sam's chest was still wrapped, covering the burns, but there were gashes in the fabric, obviously cut intentionally by a sharp object. Sam was bleeding. A lot. Besides the cuts on his chest, the gunshot wound in Sam's shoulder was bleeding, too. Dean's second thought was, _oh god, so much blood. _

Sam was unconscious, his head resting on his chest, and Bobby was there, two fingers pressed firmly to the side of Sam's neck, feeling for a pulse.

Dean was frozen with fear. He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced out the words. "Is... is he..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

"He's alive." Bobby said, and Dean could hear the relief in his voice. They had both been dreading the worst.

Bobby's words unlocked the invisible hold on Dean, and he moved forward, feeling Sam's pulse for himself. It was far too slow to be reassuring, but Dean felt another wave of relief. They still had time. He could still save Sam.

Bobby quickly worked the ties around Sam's wrists while Dean surveyed the damage on Sam's body. He had three long gashes through the fabric of the bandage on his chest, and they were deep. The skin around the bullet wound on his shoulder was a sickly gray color, and Sam's entire complexion was ghostly pale. He ducked down to Sam's level, pressed his palm to Sam's cheek, and lifted his head.

"Sammy?" He asked, tapping lightly on Sam's cheek. "Come on, Sam."

Bobby had the ropes untied and Sam slumped forward into Dean's arms. Dean caught him easily and brought a hand up to hold his head steady.

"I'll bring the car around." Bobby said quickly before running out into the yard.

Dean held Sam to his chest. "It's okay, Sammy. We're getting out of here." He said softly, but urgently. He needed Sam to know. He needed Sam to be okay.

A few moments later, Dean heard the rumble of a car engine and despite knowing that Bobby was coming with a car, he tensed and held on to Sam tighter. It would be just their luck to be so close to escaping only to have their freedom ripped away again in some twisted turn of events. It was Bobby, though, and he helped Dean lift Sam and carry him to a beat up old car that Bobby had brought for the occasion. They hoisted him into the backseat and Dean climbed in after him. As they drove down the driveway and onto the road, Sam groaned and tossed his head to the side.

"Sam?" Dean asked excitedly. "Hey. Sammy."

Sam's eyes fluttered open and he winced, his eyes fixed on Dean.

"Dean?" He said breathlessly. His breath hitched and he coughed once, turning his head to the side and groaning again.

"Yeah, Sam."

"What happened?" Sam asked, his eyes sliding closed.

"Stay awake, Sam." Dean ordered. "We got out. We're going to a hospital."

"Hos...pital..." Sam repeated slowly. His eyes slid closed again and breathed shallowly.

Dean bit his lip against the sudden onset of emotions and pressed his hands against Sam's chest, trying to stop the bleeding. Sam was out again, breathing more ragged than before, and Dean tried to tell himself that they would make it in time.

"Hurry up, Bobby." Dean said desperately.

The engine roared as Bobby pressed the accelerator, and they sped off toward town.

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><p><strong>I'm going to try my hardest to get the next chapter up by Sunday at the latest. Hopefully sooner.<strong> **Thanks for reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

**I need to point out the fact that I know absolutely nothing about hospitals or anything hospital related. Everything medical in this chapter (or any other chapter) is pieced together with research I did on the internet, but with my limited knowledge of medical terms or really anything pertaining to the human body, it was still hard. Anyway, I hope it makes sense and if it doesn't, jut grit your teeth and pretend it does. Thanks! **

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><p>Sam was burning up. His skin was pale and hot to the touch, yet he shivered almost violently. He was in and out of consciousness, and when he was awake he seemed to be confused and unsure of his surroundings. His breathing was shallow and fast, and his pulse raced. Dean didn't like it one bit.<p>

"How's he doing?" Bobby asked over his shoulder as they raced down the road toward Wateska, Illinoise.

Not surprisingly, there wasn't a hospital in the small town of Donovan, which was only eight miles away from the Robbins' farm. Instead they needed to drive the eight miles back toward Donovan, and then another twenty miles to what Bobby said was their best bet for finding a hospital. Wateska was a decent size town, Bobby said. There should be a hospital there. It didn't make Dean feel any better.

"Not good, Bobby." Dean said worriedly. He kept his hand on Sam's chest, simultaneously monitoring his breathing and heart rate. "I think he's in shock."

At that moment, Sam groaned and his eyes fluttered open. It took a moment, but they finally focused on Dean. Sam frowned.

"Dean?" He asked, speech slurred. "What's going on?"

"We're going to the hospital." Dean replied. He had already answered that question a handful of times.

Sam coughed once and his eyes rolled back, then he took a harsh breath and focused on Dean again. "Cold." He said, shivering.

"I know, Sammy." Dean said, trying to sound soothing. "We're almost there."

Sam attempted a nod before his eyes slid closed and he was out again.

"Ten miles." Bobby announced.

Dean swallowed hard and nodded to himself, his eyes focused worriedly on Sam. "Ten miles, Sammy." He whispered. "Hang on."

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><p>They raced through town, following the blue signs that lead to the Iroquoise Memorial Hospital. Sam didn't wake again, but his breathing became more and more shallow until Dean was sure he wasn't getting nearly enough air. Dean rubbed Sam's chest just below his throat, desperately wanting to calm Sam's overworked lungs and coax in some much needed air, but he was unable to do anything to help. Sam gasped in breath after quick breath until, finally, they screeched to a stop in front of the hospital emergency doors.<p>

Bobby was out in a flash, jogging toward the doors. In the sudden quiet, the only thing Dean could hear was Sam's ragged breathing. His pale skin glowed red under the lights of the emergency sign, and Dean mumbled encouraging words to as he waited. A short time later, Bobby reemerged, a team of white-coated E.R. nurses trailing behind him. Bobby opened the car door and the nurses carefully pulled Sam out and placed him onto a stretcher. Dean followed closely behind, relieved to finally have Sam in capable hands.

Dean followed behind the stretcher, eyes fixed on Sam until he was wheeled into a room and the door swung closed behind him. A hand reached out to stop Dean from following any further.

"I'm sorry, sir, you need to wait out here. They'll have questions," said the person who belonged to the hand.

Dean clenched his jaw and nodded once. It took everything he had not to push past the small woman blocking him from his brother. Instead, he turned and found Bobby waiting a few steps behind him. Together they went to the waiting room to wait.

To say that Dean hated hospitals would be an understatement. The pale, muted colors, everything so clean and orderly. The constant squeak of shoes on the polished linoleum floors would be enough to drive any sane person crazy. As he and Bobby waited for news on Sam, Dean found himself biting his lip and bobbing his knee impatiently. Every time the phone rang or a machine beeped, Dean felt like he would lose it. He could feel Bobby's eyes staring him down from the bench adjacent to his, but he couldn't be bothered to care.

Eventually, a tired looking police officer found them and went through the usual myriad of questions. How do you know the patient, what happened, did you know the man, do you know why someone would want to kidnap your brother, does Sam have any enemies, can you describe the man, do you know where he might be, how did you escape?...

Dean was surprised at how much truth was intertwined with their lie. Of course, they left out the part about them being hunters and the fact that they actually did know the name, address, and current whereabouts of the man who had done this to Sam. They also didn't mention why Jack did it, or the fact that the whole thing was linked to an unsolved case in Minnesota from a few months back. But the kidnapping part was mostly true, and the torture. As for how they escaped, Bobby rattled off a practiced line about being their uncle and finding them through the GPS on their phones after he hadn't heard from them in a few days. Dean knew that was bull, though, and he was suddenly curious for the first time as to how Bobby _did _manage to find them.

The officer frowned at his notepad where he had been jotting notes as Dean and Bobby talked. He flipped the cover back over top and tucked the notepad into his pocket. "We'll let you know if we find anything." He said.

Bobby thanked the cop, and he shuffled down the hall and out of sight.

"Bobby," Dean said once they were alone. "How _did _you find us?"

Bobby sighed. "I got a phone call."

"From who?" Dean asked, confused.

"The same girl who called me when you were stuck in that warehouse with Marcus."

Dean had to search his brain for a name, but after a moment it came to him. "_Mandy_?" He asked incredulously. "Marcus' niece?"

Bobby nodded. "His niece, yeah. Which would make her–"

"Jack's daughter." Dean finished. He chewed his lower lip as he considered this."Why would _she _call?"

Bobby shrugged. "She said her dad – Jack – was pretty upset when he found out about Marcus. She said that he had been talking about getting revenge, and then she couldn't get a hold of him for a couple days. She was just calling so that I could warn you boys, but then I couldn't get a hold of _you _for a couple days, and, well..."

"Yeah." Dean said. He knew perfectly well what had been happening those few days.

"She's a good girl, Dean. You won't have to worry about her."

Dean exhaled sharply and shook his head. Of course the thought had crossed his mind. The Robbins family was dangerous, and lack of caution on Dean's part hadn't worked out well so far. Still, he couldn't kill the girl who was responsible for their rescue – both times. It would be murder, plain and simple. Dean thought back to what he remembered of Mandy. She wasn't a violent person, or even particularly bad. It was true that she had participated in drugging their drinks at the bar that night in Minnesota, but she had shown remorse and made up for it by calling Bobby. Now she had again called Bobby on their behalf, consequentially saving Sam's life.

"Yeah." Dean said again, agreeing with Bobby. "She's good."

They sat in silence for a moment, both mulling over the decision. It was the right one, Dean was sure, but they could never be too careful when it came to Sam.

"Does he have any other family?" Dean asked finally.

Bobby shook his head. "No. It was just him and Marcus. Their parents died years ago. Marcus' wife was killed by a vamp – it's how Marcus got into hunting in the first place. His eldest son, as you know, killed himself. The other boy, well..." Bobby paused, and Dean remembered the gunshot in the warehouse. The shot that had simultaneously ended Nick's life, and meant Sam's would be saved. Bobby continued. "Then there was Marcus, Jack, Jack's wife Kay, and their daughter Mandy. That's it."

Dean nodded solemnly. That was it, then. Any threat that the Robbins family posed was now eliminated. Still, it didn't make Dean feel any better. An entire family, just gone. The life of hunters.

They were quiet a while, until a short man in a white coat came into the waiting room looking for the family of Sam Roth. Dean jumped to his feet to meet the doctor.

"I'm his brother" He said quickly. "Dean."

"Doctor Adams." The doctor said with a quick handshake. "Your brother is suffering from sepsis, a serious infection in his blood due to the burns and lacerations on his chest, also the gunshot wound to his shoulder. He's in serious but stable condition."

"Can we see him?" Dean asked immediately.

"I'm afraid not." Adams said apologetically. "Sepsis is very serious, and often life threatening. Any pathogens could potentially cause Sam to go into septic shock. He needs to be kept in a sterile environment until his blood pressure and white blood cell count return to normal. I'm afraid he can't have any visitors until then."

Dean bit the inside of his cheek hard. He felt Bobby's hand on his shoulder.

"Do you understand?" The doctor said sympathetically after a moment.

Dean gave a quick nod, refusing to speak in fear that the emotion he was feeling might be too easily apparent in his voice.

"You look tired, Mr. Roth." Adams said. "I suggest you go home and get some rest. Sam won't be having visitors for at least twenty-four hours or more. And of course we will call you if anything changes before then." He nodded to Bobby as if to reinforce the suggestion, then turned to leave.

"Dean–" Bobby started.

"I'm not leaving, Bobby." Dean said sternly.

Bobby sighed. "Can we at least get something to eat? There's a burger place just down the street."

As if on cue, Dean's stomach gave a loud, painful growl. How long had it been since he had eaten? He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to convince himself that it was okay to get some food. Sam would be safe now, in the sterile room with doctors watching over him. He swallowed down the uneasy feeling in his chest and nodded.

"Okay, yeah. Food." He said, shooting a nervous glance back toward the door Sam had disappeared behind. Part of him was sure that the minute he walked out the door, something would go horribly wrong. The rational part of him, though, was telling him that that wasn't going to happen, and that he needed to get something to eat.

Bobby pulled the keys out of his pocket. "Let's go, then." He said.

Dean followed Bobby back out the hospital doors and into the night.


	9. Chapter 9

**So sorry about the wait. **

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><p>A car horn blared and Dean startled awake. He didn't remember falling asleep. He was in a car – Bobby's car, he remembered. They had gone to get burgers. Dean blinked groggily at the glowing red brake lights of the car in front of him.<p>

"You fell asleep on the way back from the burger place." Bobby's voice was loud in the quiet car.

Dean sniffed and cleared his throat. He felt like he was coming down with something. Great, just what he needed – a cold.

"How long was I out?" Dean asked. As they drove, he watched the buildings, trying to place where they were. Nothing looked familiar.

"'Bout an hour." Bobby replied. "I didn't want to wake you up, so I've just been driving around town." He paused, then added, "no word on Sam yet," as if he knew that would be Dean's next question.

Dean nodded and rested his head back against the seat. He was so tired he could have easily fallen back asleep. The traffic light turned green and Bobby pressed his foot lightly on the accelerator. The slight vibration of the engine and the rhythmic humming of the tires was like a drug urging Dean back to sleep, and he let his eyes slide closed.

"There's a hotel near here." Bobby said softly. "It's just three blocks from the hospital. You could get some sleep and I could wait at the hospital."

Dean couldn't deny that the idea of a soft bed sounded amazing. While he was still worried about Sam, some of the initial adrenaline of escaping and getting to the hospital in time was beginning to wear off, leaving him feeling exhausted from everything that had happened the past few days. His own stubbornness nagged at him for even considering going to a hotel. He should be with Sam. And if he couldn't actually be in the same room as Sam he should at least be in the hospital so that he could be ready as soon as there was news. Another part of him, though, just wanted to sleep. He tried to rationalize Bobby's offer. Doctor Adams said it would be hours before he could see Sam – days even. In the mean time, Sam was in the best care he could get. There was nothing Dean could do at this point except wait. Bobby would be there, and Dean knew that he would call if there was any change.

Dean suddenly felt his eyelids become almost painfully heavy. He didn't think he could stay awake much longer even if he wanted to.

"Yeah." Dean said hesitantly, and he couldn't help the feeling that he was somehow failing Sam by giving in to the exhaustion. "Alright. But just for a couple hours. And you'll call if _anything_ happens." He put extra emphasis on the _anything_. If Sam so much as coughed funny, Dean wanted to know about it.

"'Course." Bobby agreed, and turned off at the next available side street, heading in the direction of the motel.

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><p>When Dean awoke the second time, he was warm and rested in the comfort of a bed. The sun peeked through a crack in the hotel curtain, and he wondered briefly what time it was before being reminded with a shrill ring that he hadn't woken up on his own. He turned to grab his cell off the nightstand by his bed and frowned at Bobby's name flashing across the screen, suddenly feeling like he had certainly slept too long and something had happened to Sam while he was out. He flipped open the phone and pressed it to his ear.<p>

"Bobby?" He asked urgently. His voice was rough from the combined forces of sleep and an oncoming cold. "What is it? Is Sam okay?"

Bobby picked up on Dean's concern immediately – would have known that his call would set off Dean's alarms even if he couldn't hear the barely contained panic in his voice. He quickly assured Dean that Sam was okay – good, even.

"He's fine. Just thought you would like to know that he's awake. Can't have any visitors yet, but he's awake."

Dean sat up and began pulling on his shoes, keeping the phone against his ear with his shoulder. "I'll be right there." He said, and shut the phone before Bobby could say anything else.

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><p>The hotel was close to the hospital. Just three city blocks, like Bobby had said. Dean jogged the short distance. The outside air was refreshing, even if the high sun made Dean feel overly-warm and irritated that he had slept so long into the morning. He reached the hospital and headed to the emergency department where he and Bobby had talked to Doctor Adams in the waiting room the night before. He realized that he didn't actually know where Sam's room was – a fact that only succeeded in fueling his irritation – and figured that the waiting room would be his best bet. Sure enough, Bobby was there waiting for him.<p>

"Have you seen him?" Dean asked breathlessly. Even though the quick jog to the hospital hadn't winded him, he still felt out of breath. "Where is he, is he okay?"

"He's fine, Dean." Bobby assured him. "I haven't seen him. I told you, he can't have visitors."

Dean sucked in a lungful of air and tried to steady his breathing. He tried to think of what he was supposed to do next.

"So what's he doing now?" Dean asked. "How's he feeling?"

From behind, a voice interrupted. "I can answer that."

Dean turned to find Doctor Adams in the hallway behind him, and he raised an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for Adams to fill him in.

"Sam is awake." Adams started.

Dean already knew that. He needed new information. He nodded impatiently.

Adams continued. "However, to prevent pain, he's highly medicated. He's been sleeping a lot, and when he's awake he's not completely coherent. We did manage to get some solid food in him, which is a good thing. His white blood cell count is still slightly elevated, but the infection is clearing up nicely. I expect you should be able to see him after another twelve to twenty-four hours. We'll still have to be careful, of course. His immune system will still be weak, and any pathogens could be life threatening." Adams stopped and must have noticed Dean's still worried expression, because he added, "He's doing well, Dean. Better than I had expected, given his circumstances. I expect him to make a full recovery."

Dean nodded. "Thanks, Doc."

Dean felt a tickle in the back of his throat and coughed. Bobby and Adams both raised eyebrows.

"What?" Dean asked, suddenly feeling defensive.

"You look pale." Adams said, tilting his head as if studying him. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh." Dean said dismissively. "Just the start of a cold, I think. No big deal."

Adams frowned and Bobby looked almost sad.

"What?" Dean said again.

"Dean," Bobby said gently. "Sam can't catch a cold right now."

Adams nodded in agreement. "Sam's immune system wouldn't be able to fight off even the simplest of viruses. I'm sorry, Dean, but you won't be able to see him until you're feeling better."

Dean blinked. He knew that what Bobby and Adams were saying made sense, but he didn't want to accept it. "But that could be over a week!" He protested.

"I can prescribe antibiotics." Adams suggested.

Dean shook his head, starting to feel angry. "No." He said."No, I need to see Sam." Adams wasn't getting it. Even the twelve to twenty-four hours that the doctor had predicted was pushing it. Dean couldn't possibly wait any longer than that to see his brother.

"Dean." Bobby warned. As always, the older hunter could sense when things were about to get out of control.

Dean met his eyes.

"It's for Sam's own good." Bobby said. "You know you can't risk him catching your cold."

Dean inhaled through his nose and tried to calm down. They were right, of course. It wasn't worth the risk of Sam getting sick. He clenched his hands into fists, desperately wanting to punch something.

"Yeah." He said finally, after he was sure he could talk without shouting. "Yeah, I'll take the antibiotics."

He let his hands fall uselessly to his side. Adams nodded and turned to go, leaving Bobby and Dean alone in the waiting room.

"Damn it!" Dean cursed, turning away from Bobby and gripping his hair in frustration.

"Relax, Dean." Bobby said. "Sam's going to be fine. You get feeling better and you can see him."

Dean slumped into a hard plastic waiting room seat, feeling defeated. Bobby left to go down the hall and get coffee, then came back holding out a cup for Dean. Dean took it and sipped the hot liquid.

"What am I supposed to do, Bobby?"

Bobby sighed and sat next to Dean. "Sleep, drink lots of liquid." He paused. "One of us has got to go back and take care of the bodies."

"Get the Impala, too." Dean added.

After a discussion, they decided to go together back to the farm. They left right away so they could get back before Sam was given the okay for visitors. The drive seemed even longer, somehow, than it had on their first trip, and Dean couldn't help but check his phone regularly just in case he missed a call from the hospital. They reached the farm and pulled into the long driveway. The sight of the house alone triggered some distant fear in Dean, and he had to remind himself that Jack was dead and Sam was miles away, safe in a hospital bed. He checked his phone one last time, then stuffed it in his pocket and followed Bobby into the house.

Dean let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding when he saw Kay on the porch, and again when Jack's body was still in the basement. Somehow, he was sure that they had both survived and were busy plotting their next attack. The confirmation that they were both, in fact, dead, was a huge weight off of Dean's shoulders. He helped Bobby carry both bodies into the tall grass behind the house and then went back inside to grab his and Sam's things from upstairs while Bobby lit the fire. He found the Impala in the shed and maneuvered it carefully around the other vehicles and out into the yard, then went to stand with Bobby by the fire.

They stood in silence for a while, watching the bodies burn. Images of Marcus and Jack and a beaten, bloody Sam flashed through Dean's mind. It wasn't enough, really, to watch Jack burn. He wanted to hurt Jack, to make him suffer like he had made Sam suffer. Jack had gotten off too easily. A wave of rage rippled through Dean, and he shuddered at the intensity of the feeling. Jack was dead. He couldn't hurt Sam anymore. If Dean went around torturing people for revenge, he was no better than Jack or Marcus. It was over now, right? There was nobody left to hurt Sam.

A thought occurred to Dean and he felt his stomach drop.

"It isn't over." He said.

Bobby took a long time to answer. Finally, he said, "What do you mean?"

"There was a guy in a car." Dean explained. "Me and Sam, we got out, and then a guy picked us up on the road and brought us back." He felt like he needed to defend himself, so he added, "We didn't know he was in with Jack. We thought he was just driving by."

Bobby thought about this for a moment. "What do you want to do about it?" He asked.

"He could try to hurt Sam again." Dean replied.

"Dean," Bobby said carefully, like he was talking to a child, or trying to talk someone off a ledge. The tone just made Dean more angry. "What do you want to do about it?"

"Find him, for one." Dean said impatiently.

"And then what?" Bobby asked. "Are you going to kill him? This guy who found you on the street?"

"And hand delivered us to a psycho who wanted to kill us." Dean added.

"I don't think it's a good idea." Bobby said.

It was obvious what Bobby was doing. He didn't think the man in the car would be a problem anymore now that Jack was dead – he didn't want Dean to kill him. But in Dean's mind, the man was just as guilty as Jack. It wasn't revenge, the man was a threat, and he had to be taken care of. Maybe he _had_ just been acting on Jack's orders, but Dean wasn't going to take the risk. Not when it was Sam's life that hung in the balance.

"Yeah, alright, Bobby." Dean said. He had no intention of letting the man go, though. It would be better, anyway, if Bobby didn't come along when he went back to Donovan to find the man from the road. Bobby would try and stop him, probably. He should stay in the hospital with Sam. Dean had a few days at least before he could see Sam, anyway. He could go without Bobby even knowing he had gone. "Let's get back to the hospital."

Bobby shot Dean a look, and Dean was sure that he wasn't convinced. He would no doubt bring up the issue again later, once he thought Dean had calmed down a bit and could be rational. It didn't matter if Bobby thought he was wrong. Dean could handle this one on his own.

* * *

><p>They went back to the hospital, Bobby in his car and Dean in the Impala. There, they were shown the location of Sam's sterile room. They couldn't get inside, though. It bothered Dean that Sam was just on the other side of that wall and he couldn't see him, couldn't reach him. It was too much like being locked in Jack's basement, and it left Dean feeling uncomfortable and fidgety. Finally, Bobby led them both away from the room. There was no point in standing outside it – it was no better than waiting down the hall in the third floor waiting room, which, Dean had to admit, was a far side better than the hard plastic of the emergency department. Cushioned seats, for one.<p>

They went to the cafeteria and had lunch, and then Dean suggested that Bobby go back to the hotel and get some sleep. They could wait at the hospital in shifts. Of course, once Sam was allowed visitors, it would have to be Bobby that went into the room, but at least one of them would be there when the news arrived – or if anything went wrong.

Bobby agreed and left, leaving Dean alone on a green-cushioned chair with nothing to do except wait, skim through the pile of worn _People _magazines on the table next to him, and piece together his plan for the man from the road.

Some time later, Bobby would return and it would be Dean's turn to shower and sleep back at the hotel. He would do it then.


	10. Chapter 10

**So. GISHWHES kind of took over my life there for a while. Sorry about the wait.  
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><p>By the time Bobby returned to the hospital at around eight that night, Dean had the whole thing worked out in his head; his master plan to find and kill the man from the road. The man who Dean had trusted enough to let his injured brother get into the car with, and who in turn had hand delivered them to Jack. Randy, Jack had called him. Dean knew his name, he knew what he looked like, and he knew his car.<p>

In Dean's head, he would drive to Donovan and be able to easily locate Randy. It was a small town, after all. If he couldn't do it by simply driving down the roads until he found Randy's car, he should be able to ask just about anyone and get an easy answer. In towns like that, everybody knows everybody. Once he figured out where Randy lived, he wouldn't hesitate. There was no use dragging it out. He would simply walk up to the door, walk inside, and then leave before neighbors had a chance to wonder what that loud noise was that sounded an awfully lot like a gunshot. He would be asleep at the hotel within two hours.

Bobby appeared from the elevator looking tired, even though he had been the one sleeping at the hotel for the past six hours. Still, Dean felt bad that Bobby had to stick around at all. If it weren't for his stupid cold, Dean would insist that Bobby go home; and if it weren't for Randy, Dean would tell Bobby to go back to the hotel and Dean would call when there was news. He could handle the waiting, that was _his _job. He just had to take care of this one little thing first.

"Well you look rested." Dean commented.

Bobby grunted and fell into the seat beside Dean. "Don't worry about me." He said. "You're the one who needs extra sleep if you want to see Sam anytime soon. Gotta get rid of that cold."

Dean ignored Bobby's words with a frown and stood to leave.

"Get some sleep, Dean." Bobby said again, his voice gruff and authoritative. Dean could hear the underlying message. _Don't do anything stupid. Just go back to the hotel and sleep._

Dean brushed off Bobby's concern with feigned nonchalance. "Yeah, yeah. Might stop at the bar for a few." Both he and Bobby knew that it was a lie.

Bobby let Dean go without another word, and within minutes Dean was on the highway, headlights pointing toward Donovan.

* * *

><p>The streets of Donovan were dark, many of the streetlights were left burned out with nobody interested enough to replace them. Dean made his way slowly up and down the roads lined with run down houses, but didn't see Randy's car. He stopped at a gas station, the only one around, and prayed that the whole town wasn't in on Jack's plan to kill him and Sam. If they were, this might be a little bit more difficult than Dean had originally planned.<p>

As it turned out, the teenage girl behind the counter at the one-pump gas station had no idea who he was. And when Dean flashed her a smile and asked sweetly if she knew anyone by the name of Randy who drove a silver Pontiac, throwing in her name and a wink into the mix for good measure, the girl was more than happy to oblige. She knew Randy, and she didn't think twice about giving his home address to a complete stranger.

Dean drove up the driveway not worrying about the loud growl of the Impala's engine. This wasn't a surprise attack, and Randy had nowhere to run where Dean couldn't see him and follow. There was silence as Dean turned the key and killed the engine. The lights in the house were on, but nobody was peeking out the window to see who was coming. Dean checked that his gun had bullets and tucked it back into the waistband of his pants. He walked up the driveway, confident but cautious. There was always a chance that Randy would see him coming and would pull out a gun of his own. Dean would be ready.

He approached the door and paused, feeling an odd urge to knock. That was pointless though, so he reached for the door knob instead. A second before his hand would have touched the cool metal, the door swung open. Dean's hand moved for his gun, but stopped short when he saw the small pigtailed girl in front of him. He blinked down at her and the girl returned his blank stare. Suddenly Dean wasn't so sure.

"Uh." He said. "Is Randy home?"

The girl didn't move, or even show any sign that she had heard Dean. Dean cleared his throat to ask again, but was interrupted when a familiar face stepped into view behind the girl. Randy's face dropped when he saw Dean, and Dean could see the color rush out of it. He wasn't sure if he should reach for his gun or... he looked back to the girl. Obviously he couldn't shoot Randy here.

"Lilly, honey, go back inside and stay by your brother." Randy said to the girl.

The girl turned on her heels and was gone in a flash, blonde pigtails bouncing behind her as she ran. Randy swallowed hard. The kid was gone, why hadn't Dean shot him? This should be over by now. Somehow though, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"You mind if we take this outside?" Randy asked, voice shaky.

Dean nodded and let Randy walk past him out into the yard. Dean followed until they were by a barn a good distance away from the house. Randy stopped there and slowly turned to face Dean. Dean could see clearly the fear in his eyes. Though at the moment he wasn't sure if he was really going to shoot Randy, Dean pulled out his gun and aimed it at the man's head.

"Oh god." Randy moaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

A second passed, then another. Randy stayed motionless, eyes glued shut, hands clenched into fists, just waiting to die. This was not how this was supposed to go down. Dean lowered the gun, but didn't take his finger off the trigger, just in case.

"I take it you remember me then." He said.

Randy nodded without opening his eyes. Dean could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest and for a second he worried that the guy might have a heart attack or something. Then he realized that this was a stupid thing to worry about since he was there to kill Randy anyway and a heart attack would leave less of a mess. Still, somehow Dean had pictured the whole thing differently. No kids, for one. Randy should be putting up a fight, for another.

"Well?" Dean asked impatiently. Randy needed to say _something. _

Finally Randy opened his eyes but didn't relax at all, even after he saw that the gun was no longer aimed directly at his head. Just the sight of it in Dean's hand was enough to keep his breathing at an alarming pace.

"Well..." Randy repeated hesitantly, and Dean could almost see the wheels turning in his head, trying to put together exactly the right words so that Dean would put the gun away and leave.

"You brought my brother and me to Jack." Dean said bluntly. "You know he was trying to kill us, right?"

Randy nodded and swallowed hard. "Jack used to... well, one time I saw him, and he..." Randy's sentences trailed off at the ends as if he were afraid to finish his thoughts. "There was this thing in the field there." He said finally, nodding toward the cornfield behind his house. "It, uh, it was some sort of... of monster." He stopped and waited for a reaction, clearly expecting Dean to show some sign of disbelief. When Dean gave him nothing, he continued with a choked sob. "It killed my wife. Jack... he killed it. He knew what he was doing, too. It wasn't his first time with... something like this. I could tell. He used silver bullets." Randy shook his head as if he almost didn't believe it himself.

He continued. "He told me that he... hunted... things like that. Monsters and, uh, ghosts and stuff, you know? I would've thought he was crazy except for the thing that killed my wife... Look, all I know is that Jack called me up that night and told me that he had a couple of monsters that had escaped. He told me to drive to his place and see if I could find them on the road. When I saw you were just humans... well, at least you _looked _like just humans. Jack's the expert though, you know? I didn't know what to do, so I just..." He trailed off.

He didn't need to finish the sentence. Dean knew exactly what Randy had done next. It was why he was here. But Randy's story complicated things. The man hadn't known what he was doing. It was no excuse, surely, but... maybe it was. He was coming to the aid of an old friend who had saved him and his children after a monster had killed his wife. Randy had no way of knowing the kinds of things Jack, as a hunter, would have dealt with. Some monsters _do _look human. And Dean couldn't really shoot him now. Not with the kids. Dean huffed, frustrated, and let the hand with the gun fall to his side.

"I'm sorry." Randy's voice was soft, barely a whisper, but Dean heard it, and he felt himself deflate.

"Look," Dean said. "You have no business going out looking for monsters – even if we _were _monsters – which we're not." He sighed and glanced back at the house where two small faces were peeking out through a window by the front door. He tucked the gun back into his pants and saw Randy relax visibly. "Just promise me you won't do anything like that again. To anybody. You're not a hunter. You just worry about your family and let other people deal with their own problems."

Randy nodded fervently. "Yeah." He said quickly. "Yeah, of course."

Dean didn't feel any better, but he didn't think that killing Randy would change that.

"If you don't stay out of trouble, I'll be back." Dean warned, patting the gun just to get the point across.

Randy nodded again, eyes widening. "No more trouble." He agreed.

Dean left Randy with his children – unharmed, but hopefully with a little bit of sense knocked into him. He drove back to Wateska feeling tired and frustrated. A dull headache pounded behind his eyes and made it difficult to concentrate on the road. All he could think about was the bed waiting for him back at the hotel.

He was asleep withing minutes of his head hitting the pillow.

* * *

><p>His phone rang at 3:32 in the morning. At least that's what the dim red lights from the alarm clock by his bed told him as he reached for the screeching device, deafeningly loud in the still silence of early morning – <em>way too early<em> morning. He saw Bobby's name flash across the display and flipped it open at once.

"Bobby." He said gruffly. "What's up?"

"Sorry to wake you up, Dean. I figured you'd kill me though if I didn't let you know that I'm going in to see Sam. Doc gave me the go ahead."

Dean rubbed at his eyes and sat up in bed. "He's okay?"

"He's fine, Dean. You shouldn't come here. You need to get enough sleep if you want to speed up that cold, and there's nothing you could do here anyway." He waited a beat for an answer from Dean. When none came, he restated his answer to Dean's question. "He's okay. Really, he's good. You know I'll call if anything changes."

Dean knew. He also knew that the thought of pulling on clothes and heading out into the night made him cringe. He was just _so tired. _Besides, Bobby was right. If Dean went back to the hospital, all he would be good for would be holding down the chairs in the waiting room.

"Tell him to take care of himself." Dean said into the phone. Already his eyelids were almost too heavy to hold open. "Watch out for him, Bobby. I'll be there in the morning."

"I'll tell him." Bobby promised.

They hung up, and Dean was almost instantly back asleep.

* * *

><p>It was only two days before Doctor Adams gave Dean the all clear and he was allowed to see Sam. His cold hadn't really amounted to anything except a sore throat and a tendency to tire easily. He slept a lot, as per Bobby's orders, and when he wasn't sleeping he was at the hospital, sitting in the waiting room doing nothing except drinking coffee and flipping through magazines. Besides that, Sam's immune system was quickly returning to normal and after the two days, Adams decided that he and Dean were both healthy enough to finally see each other. It would only be a couple more days of close monitoring, and then Sam would be free to go.<p>

Dean peeked around the corner of the door to Sam's room and found Sam asleep. For a moment, Dean couldn't shake the feeling that the past few days had just been a dream and Sam wasn't actually any better than he had been when they arrived at the hospital. But then Dean heard the TV, just a low hum in the background, and saw the half-eaten carton of yogurt on the breakfast tray by Sam's bed, and he knew that Sam was just napping. He was getting better.

As he neared the bed, Dean noticed bandages peeking through Sam's hospital gown and patches of yellowing bruises on his face and arms. Considering what Sam had been through, he looked good.

Dean stood for a moment, unsure of what to do. He wanted desperately to talk to Sam, to wake him up and make sure that he was okay, but he knew that he should let his brother sleep. As he silently considered his options, Sam's eyes fluttered and he mumbled something soft and incoherent, and Dean's mind was made up for him. He sat quietly in the chair next to Sam's bed and watched his brother intently. When Sam's eyes fluttered a second time, Dean couldn't resist any longer.

"Sammy." He said softly, then louder when Sam didn't respond. "Sam."

Sam's eyes opened slowly and took a moment to find Dean, but when they did, Sam's face broke into a wide smile.

"Dean." Sam said happily.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean replied, unable to stop his own smile in return. Hearing Sam's voice again after so many days was like a heavy weight suddenly lifted from Dean's chest. He felt like he could finally breath again. "How are you feeling?"

Sam sat up slowly, placing a hand across his chest and wincing slightly as he did so. Dean considered reaching out and helping Sam up, but then Sam was rolling his shoulders and neck as if testing his body for damage.

He shrugged. "Bored. What about you? Bobby said you were sick."

Dean shook his head as he reached for the unopened orange juice on Sam's breakfast tray. He peeled back the foil cover and took a drink.

"Nah. Didn't amount to anything." He set the juice back on the tray and turned to face Sam directly. He lowered his eyebrows and asked again. "I'm serious, Sam. How are you?"

Sam dropped his eyes to his lap and picked at a loose thread on his gown. "I'm okay." He said.

Dean didn't buy it, and he let Sam know this with a warning tone. "Sam..."

Sam huffed and met Dean's eyes again. "Really, Dean, I'm okay. I feel good, it's just..."

"Just what?" Dean prodded after a moment of silence.

"Nightmares." Sam said almost inaudibly.

Dean felt cold. The one thing he could never protect his little brother from was the inside of his own head. Nightmares were not anything new for Sam. After Jessica's death, it had been practically a nightly occurrence; and since then, there had been plenty of things to keep Sam's mind busy during the night. The fact that these nightmares were enough to rattle Sam was saying something, and Dean didn't like it.

He looked to his hands as he thought about this and then turned back to Sam. Sam was waiting, eyebrows pinched together in a pleading expression. He knew Dean didn't have the power to chase away his nightmares, but he still expected something. No matter how old they got, how much bigger Sam was now than when he was a kid, no matter how many monsters Sam fought or how capable he was of taking care of himself, he still needed Dean to be there for him, to look after him. And likewise, no matter how much Dean teased his brother for being a dork or a girl, Dean needed Sam right back. It was a connection between them that had been there since that night in Lawrence when Sam was only six months old and both their lives had changed forever. Dean would never say it out loud, and Sam would never bring it up, but it was there all the same.

Now, Dean searched for the words to make things okay again. He sighed, knowing that if those words existed, he wouldn't be able to find them.

"Sam." He said, gently but with enough force that Sam would know he meant what he said. "You're safe now, okay? They're all dead. All of them. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you anymore."

Sam nodded jerkily and sucked on his lower lip. A small, sad smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You can't protect me from everything."

Dean huffed out a breath. "I can try."

* * *

><p>Sam was released from the hospital two days later. On Bobby's order, the boys drove back to South Dakota and spent three whole weeks laying low at Bobby's house. Sam started out doing a lot of reading and a little strength training, which gradually worked it's way into a lot of strength training and, still, a lot of reading. Dean helped Bobby with old junkers and helped Sam get back into shape for hunting.<p>

They didn't talk about what had happened, but Dean could sometimes see it in the way Sam would go for a run and focus on the pavement like it was the only thing in the world, or how he would take on target practice with a new kind of determination. If you wanted to make it as a hunter, you had to allow your fears to make you stronger. There was no use lingering in the past. It would come up eventually, Dean was sure of it. Not in so many words, maybe, but in subtle gestures and an understanding that ran so deep, it was almost supernatural.

In the mean time, they would hunt and drive and put their shared hatred for evil to good use. Because Sam was right, Dean couldn't protect Sam from everything. No matter how badly he wanted to, part of their job was taking risks and putting themselves in danger for the greater good. If Dean wanted to continue hunting with his brother, he had to accept that sometimes bad things would happen. Somewhere down the road, Sam was going to get hurt again. Dean too. And, hopefully much _much_ further down the road, Dean was sure the job would get them both in the end. Until that day came, they would have each others backs like always, and when one of them got in trouble, the other would be there to pull him out and patch him up.

So maybe Dean couldn't protect Sam from everything, but he could sure as hell try. He was the big brother after all, and that was his job.

**END.**

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><p><strong>I hope you liked this story! Thanks for reading!<br>**


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